* 


f 


THE 
FACE   IN   THE   GIRANDOLE 


Seeing  us  she  hesitated      (Page  56) 


THE_FACE  IN  THE 
GIRANDOLE 

A    ROMANCE    OF 
OLD   FURNITURE 

BY 

WILLIAM  FREDERICK  DIX 


NEW    YORK 

MOFFAT,   YARD    fc?    COMPANY 
1906 


Copyright,  1906.  by 
MOFFAT,    YARD    &   COMPANY 


PUBLISHED  OCTOBER,  1906 


PS 

3507 

1118 
F3 


The  Plimpton  Press  Norwood  Mass. 


THE   GIRANDOLE. 


Like  a  pale  moon  enframed  in  clouds  of  gold, 
Fair,  orbed  glass,  how  much  you   might  have 

told 

Of  scenes  evanished  from  before  your  face, 
Had  you  the  wish  to  and  of  speech  the  grace! 
Two  gilded  cornucopias  ascend 
To  frame  you;  slender,  spiral  sconces  bend 
On  either  side  to  hold  each  taper-light 
That  shines  reflected  in  your  face  at  night. 
Child  of  your  master  maker  Chippendale, 
Who  wrought  your  ornaments  so  fair  and  frail, 
Did  Great  Grand-mother  pause  in  tete-a-tete 
Before  you  seeing  if  her  hat  were  straight, 
Or  Great  Grand-father,  in  the  lover's  role, 
Adjust  his  scarf  before  you,  Girandole  ? 
Did  men  and  maidens  steal  a  furtive  glance, 
iii 


The  Girandole 

Threading  the  mazes  of  the  stately  dance, 
At  patch  or  bow  or  velvet  coat  or  lace, 
As  now  we  moderns  seek  your  shining  face  ? 
Times  change  and  manners,  dress  and  customs 

pass 

And  flash  reflected  in  your  shining  glass, 
But   sweet    Miss    Cynthia    shows   you   eyes   of 

blue, 

A  Just  as  Grand-mother  Cynthia  used  to  do, 
And  smiles  back  at  you,  type  of  modern  maid.     |1 
Sweet,  is  she  not,  as  those  of  times  more  staid  ?      o 
--•.or  But  ah!  your  secret  thoughts  will  ne'er  be  told, 
Fair  crystal  moon  enframed  in  clouds  of  gold. 

W.  F.  D. 


XII. 
XIII. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I  CATCH  THE  CRAZE  FROM  Mv  AUNT  i 
I  GET  THE  BETTER  OF  MY  AUNT  IN  A 

BARGAIN 12 

MY  AUNT  GETS  THE  BETTER  OF  ME  .  23 

THE  HOMESICK  MANTELPIECE  .  .  33 
IN  WHICH  ALL  RULES  FOR  TRADE  ARE 

OVERTURNED  41 

TOPSY-TURVY  BARGAINS  ....  62 
THE  Rococo  LADY  AND  THE  HIGHLY 

VARNISHED  GENTLEMAN  ...  72 

WANTED:  A  SETTEE 85 

THE  FACE  IN  THE  GIRANDOLE  .  .  97 

THE  LEGACY  OF  PLYMOUTH  .  .  .  112 
THE  HOUSE  THAT  CHANGED  ITS 

GENDER 121 

WEDDING  BELLS  IN  SALEM  TOWN  .  131 

HEART'S  DESIRE 145 

V 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


SEEING  Us  SHE  HESITATED.     .     .Frontispiece 


FACING    PAGE 


I "  I  CAME    FACE  TO   FACE  WITH  A  TALL 

CLOCK 54 

I  REGARDED  IT  LONG  AND  MEDITATIVELY     100 


THE  WEDDING  BELLS  RANG  JOYOUSLY 

IN  SALEM  TOWN 142 


&VJT 

i 


I    CATCH   THE    CRAZE    FROM   MY  AUNT 

—  y— 

I   CAUGHT  the  microbe  from  my  aunt  . 
I! 
and   she  developed   the  craze  in   an  ^ 

unexpected   way.     She   had   a   large   and  .' 
comfortable  house  furnished  in  rosewood,   j* 
oak,  and  black  walnut.     The  parlor  had 
her  old  New  York  City  house  set,  re-cov 
ered  with  modern  upholstery,  the  library 
was  in  oak,  and  the  dining-room  was  in    A 

H  I 

black  walnut.  Up-stairs  she  had  all  kinds 
and  the  attic  was  a  repository  of  much 
"  truck,"  too  good  to  give  to  the  furnace 
man  but  of  no  earthly  use  in  her  suburban 
I 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


home.  One  day  she  discovered  the  allur 
ing  shop  of  Old  Pierre  and  Young  Pierre, 
who  browsed  about  among  these  old  New 
Jersey  towns  and  rescued,  at  insignificant 
prices,  blackened  and  battered  scullery 
tables,  which,  under  their  transforming 
hands,  emerged  as  inlaid  mahogany  side 
boards  or  console-tables,  and  cleverly 
exhumed  other  despised  articles  which 
forthwith  became  pieces  of  beauty. 

She  saw  a  tall  clock  in  the  doorway. 
Also  Old  Pierre  saw  her  —  a  "likely" 
customer,  evidently  a  city  woman  of  taste 
and  probable  means.  Soon  she  was  inside, 
and  the  love  of  bargaining,  inherited  from 
her  Connecticut  ancestors,  emerged  into 
the  sunlight,  even  as  the  landscape  grain- 
2 


? 


I  Catch  the  Craze  from  My  Aunt 

ing  of  old  mahogany  emerged  from  its 
blackened  varnish  in  the  workshop  behind 
her.  She  thought  of  her  clockless  hall 
way.  Also  of  some  oak  bookcases  in  her 
attic;  and  the  battle  was  joined.  What 
were  the  Gallic  wiles  of  Old  Pierre  against 
those  of  the  heir  of  generations  of  inher 
ited  Connecticut  blandishments!  In  a  few 
days  the  clock  tick-tocked  cheerfully  in 
my  aunt's  hall  and  Old  Pierre  was  extol 
ling  the  excellence  of  oak  bookcases  to 
his  clients. 

"And  only  twenty  dollars  in  cash,  my 
dear  nephew!"  my  aunt  exulted  to  me. 

And   the   microbe   began  to  propagate, 

for    soon    a    fine    old    console-table   with 

columns  at  the  side  and  a  mirror  under 

3 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


the  table-shelf  was  obtained  —  after  much 
exchange  of  talk,  —  for  a  walnut  bureau 
and  a  cellaret  and  ten  dollars  in  cash. 
With  the  two  dignified  pieces  of  fine  old 
mahogany  in  the  house  came  the  realiza 
tion  of  the  unattractiveness  of  the  output 
of  the  mansard-roof-black-walnut-and- 
Eastlake  period.  Books  on  old  furniture, 
such  as  Luke  Vincent  Lockwood's  "  Colo 
nial  Furniture  in  America,"  Esther  Single 
ton's  "French  and  English  Furniture," 
Macquoid's  "A  History  of  English  Furni 
ture,"  Virginia  Robie's  "Historic  Styles  in 
Furniture,"  and  Frederick  Litchfield's 
"How  to  Collect  Old  Furniture"  were 
studied,  and  a  new  and  fascinating  aim 
of  life  came  into  her  existence. 
4 


i 


41 


/  Catch  the  Craze  from  My  Aunt 

What  were  the  fascinating  attractions  of 
the  Woman's  Club,  or  the  Hospital  Aux 
iliary,  compared  to  the  joy  of  a  bargain 

well   made  with   Old   Pierre!     What  was 

c 

the  paltry  and  fleeting  joy  of  the  Bridge 

tVo* 

Whist   table    compared   to   the   perpetual 
satisfaction  of  ownership    of    an   Empire 

o 

one  with  claw  feet!     History  became  en 
dued  with  new  interest.     How  stimulating   ; 
to    think    of  Washington    rising    from    ajiiir 
carved,    four-post    bed     and     taking    his  O 
clothes  from  a  genuine  Chippendale  chair   , 
or  a  colonial  highboy  to  dress  and  sally 
forth  to  do  battle  with  the    redcoats    of 
Cornwallis,  whose  English  home  probably 
was    crowded    with    Georgian    furniture! 
Think   of  Napoleon,   resting  from    cares 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


1 


of  state  at  Malmaison,  surrounded  with 
Empire  settees  and  cabinets!  And  what 
treasures  must  have  crowded  the  salons 
of  Louis  XIV,  Louis  XV,  and  Louis  XVI, 
-  those  magical  terms  of  the  modern 
decorator! 

One  day  my  aunt  telephoned  to  me  to   ^ 
come  down  to  dinner.     Her  voice  trem 
bled  with  suppressed  eagerness  and  visions   ^ 
of  the  roll-top  desk  in  the  third  story  or   J| 
the  back  spare  room  walnut  bureau  sud- 

-4 

denly  transferred  to  the  little  furniture 
shop,  rose  before  me.  What  had  sup 
planted  them  ?  I  went.  My  aunt  hov 
ered  immediately  behind  the  housemaid 
who  opened  the  door.  Her  eyes  shone. 

JEven  the  tall  clock  seemed  to  tick  in  un- 
- 


/  Catch  the  Craze  from  My  Aunt 

usual  staccato.  I  glanced  furtively  about 
and  saw,  in  the  distance,  the  dining-room 
in  an  unwonted  aspect.  Gone  was  the 
great  black  walnut  table  with  its  all-encom 
passing  cloth,  gone  was  the  filigree  carved 
sideboard  with  its  brown  marble  top,  and 
gone  were  the  leather-seated,  over-ornate 
walnut  chairs.  Several  of  the  pictures  had 
vanished  from  the  walls  —  etchings  in 
white  frames  and  tinted  photographs  of 
Venice  —  likewise  the  flowered  wall-paper 
and  carpet!  I  entered  a  room  strikingly 
simple  in  its  elegance,  strikingly  effective 
in  its  beauty.  Upon  the  dark,  green-toned  , 
walls  hung  several  family  portraits  which 
for  years  had  been  resting,  face  to  the  wall, 
in  the  attic.  The  frames  were  newly  gilded, 
7 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

but  in  gilt  of  a  lusterless,  subdued  tone. 
Upon  the  floor  was  a  soft-hued,  green, 
patternless  carpet,  enframed  in  a  hard 
wood  border.  The  new  —  but  evidently 
old  —  buffet  rested  upon  six  slender  legs 
with  fine  lines  of  white  holly  inlay  upon 
them.  Each  of  the  three  top  drawers  had 
a  panel  of  light  mahogany  and  carved 
brass  handles.  In  the  center  were  two 
cupboards  flanked  by  bottle  drawers,  and 
on  each  side  were  large  and  deep  drawers 
for  linen.  All  were  paneled  in  light 
mahogany,  outlined  with  inlaid  satin- 
wood  and  had  brass  handles.  It  was  a 
Hepplewhite! 

The   table,   not   concealed   in   damask 
but    with    dainty    linen    doilies    upon    its 
8 


I  Catch  the  Craze  from  My  Aunt 


polished  top,  was  also  slender-legged,  of 
mahogany,  and  with  thin  lines  of  satin- 
wood  inlay  relieving  its  simplicity. 

"The  chairs,"  said  my  aunt,  "are 
Sheraton,  fan  backs,  not  original,  but 
excellent  copies,  made  in  England  and 
sent  to  Virginia  probably  after  the  Revo 
lution.  Their  red  leather  seats  are  new, 
of  course.  Old  Pierre  found  them  in 
Elizabeth  and  put  them  in  thorough  order. 
The  serving-table  is  Empire,  but  it  is  light 
and  delicate  in  design  and  isn't  out  of 
place  with  the  rest.  The  brass  inlay 
rather  corresponds  with  the  satinwood 
ji  inlay  in  the  other  pieces.  It  was  painted 
black  and  used  for  nails  and  bolts  in  a 

'•    wood-shed  when  he  found  it. 

U> 

9 


cv* 

i 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

"But,"  I  exclaimed,  "has  your  ship 
come  in  or  are  you  just  reckless?" 

"The  room  cost  just  seventy-eight  dol 
lars  in  cash,"  said  my  aunt.  "I  got  the 
buffet  for  twenty  dollars,  the  two  walnut 
bureaus,  the  refrigerator,  and  the  oak 
china  closet.  The  table  cost  fifteen  dol 
lars  and  the  old  walnut  table,  the  side 
table,  four  pictures,  and  the  black  marble 
clock  with  the  bronze  statuette.  The 
serving-table  cost  sixteen  dollars,  the  old 
buffet,  and  the  dining-room  chairs.  The 
new  chairs  cost  twelve  dollars,  the  old 
carpet,  the  ebony  easel,  the  cherry  mantel 
bric-a-bric  shelf,  and  the  two  walnut  single 
bedsteads.  The  wall-paper  and  the  new 
carpet  don't  count  as  I  had  to  have  those  A 

4 


/  Catch  the  Craze  from  My  Aunt 

anyway,"  she  said  with  truly  feminine 
logic.  "And  the  frame  man  got  fifteen 
dollars  and  some  old  curtains.  Isn't  it 
worth  the  price  ? " 

I  looked  about  the  room  again.  Then 
I  bowed  low  over  my  aunt's  hand  and 
kissed  it.  The  microbe  had  spread  its 
contagion  and  I  became  a  victim. 


II 


II 

I    GET  THE    BETTER  OF   MY   AUNT   IN 
A    BARGAIN 

IN  another  part  of  town  from  the 
pleasant  emporium  of  Old  Pierre  and 
Young  Pierre  was  a  dilapidated  story-and- 
a-half  cottage  bearing  the  sign  "Old 
Curiosity  Shop."  On  the  porch  were  a 
few  shabby  pieces  of  furniture.  What 
might  be  inside  I  had  never  speculated 
upon,  as,  until  I  caught  the  microbe  of  the 
Old  Furniture  Craze  from  my  aunt,  after 
she  had  shown  me  her  transformed  dining- 
room,  I  was  not  interested  in  the  subject. 
12 


/  Get  the  Better  of  My  Aunt  in  a  Bargain 

As  the  fever  developed  I  became  conscious 
of  two  truths. 

One  was  that  this  new  interest  in  Amer 
icana  —  old  furniture,  old  silver  and  china, 
heirlooms  and  ancestors  — was  welding  into 
our  national  character  that  element  of  ven 
eration  which  previously  had  been  sadly 
lacking.  It  was  teaching  us  a  new  respect 
for  our  elders,  our  parents,  and  our  estab 
lished  institutions.  It  was  something 

O 

deeper  and  better  than  a  mere  fad,  this 
awakening  appreciation  of  the  beautiful 
fabrications  of  yesterday.  The  furniture 
of  our  colonial  period  was  worthy  of 
admiration  because  it  was  really  beautiful. 
There  was  a  grace  in  its  lines,  an  honesty 
in  its  cabinet  work,  that  were  totally  lacking 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

in  the  ornate  and  hideous  furniture  of  a 
generation  ago.  The  old  furniture  love 
was  but  a  phase  of  that  larger  interest 
seen  in  the  upbuilding  of  our  various 
patriotic  and  ancestral  societies.  Old 
homesteads  were  ransacked  for  records, 
the  archives  of  town  halls  searched,  old 

B 

wills,  inventories,   portraits,  letters,   laces, 
brocades  and  furniture  were  rescued  from 
'  the    oblivion    of   dusty    attics    and    again  <M* 
became    cherished    in    the    family.     The 
days  when  modern  matrons  had  old  four- 
posters  chopped  up  for  kindling-wood —  and     « 
•    I  personally  had  heard  of  just  such  tragedies 
,>  —  were  happily  past.     And  so  what  I  had 
scoffingly  called  a  craze  —  this  old  furniture 
interest  —  was  really  a  return  to  sanity. 
14 


/  Get  the  Better  of  My  Aunt  in  a  Bargain 

The  second  truth  which  dawned  upon 
me  was  that  this  cult  was  of  immense 

A  practical  good  because  it  was  not  only 
sweeping  out  the  heterogeneous  furnish- 

H  ings  from  our  better  types  of  homes  and 
replacing  them  with  simpler  and  more 
beautiful  objects  of  usefulness  and  orna 
ment,  but  it  was  teaching  modern  furni 
ture  makers  to  study  classic  forms  and  to 
copy  them.  If  one  had  not  the  time  nor 
inclination  to  collect  old  pieces,  he  could 
buy  beautiful  new  ones  patterned  after  the 
French  Empire  or  the  three  Louis  schools, 
or  after  the  masters  of  English  ones  — 
jfil  Adam,  Hepplewhite,  Sheraton,  and  Chip- 

h  pendale.  In  other  words,  the  meretricious 
was  being  driven  out  by  the  beautiful. 


i 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


Thrilled  with  the  majesty  of  these  grand 
thoughts  I  opened  the  front  door  of  the 
little  Old  Curiosity  Shop  and,  leaving  my 
base-born  prejudices  behind  me  with  the 
dust  of  the  street  upon  the  door-mat, 
as  it  were,  I  entered  into  a  new  world, 
filled  with  the  furniture  of  an  older 
one. 

The  microbe  was  firmly  planted  in  my 
system. 

A  bright  little  man  with  white  hair,  but 
a  face  youthful  because  it  was  animated, 
looked  up  from  a  table  he  was  cutting 
loose  from  its  burlap  and  exclaimed  in 
greeting: 

"There!  Look  at  it!  Carved  mahog 
any  under  the  paint.  Dolphins  for  legs. 
16 


i 
1 

1 
1 


/  Get  the  Better  of  My  Aunt  in  a  Bargain 

And  I  only  paid  nine  dollars  for  it! 
Wouldn't  sell  it  for  thirty-five  dollars." 

His  greeting  gave  me  the  pleasant  feeling 
that  I  was  already  one  initiated,  a  brother 
collector  and  therefore  to  be  confided  in. 
No  mere  shopman  he,  with  cold  eye  meas 
uring  the  financial  stature  of  a  customer, 
but  a  collector  to  whom  all  other  collectors 
were  welcome.  I  felt  at  once  a  connois 
seur.  Ah!  If  my  aunt  could  see  me  now, 
viewing  critically  but  approvingly  this 
broken  and  blackened  object. 

"Beautiful,"  I  pronounced  judicially. 
"A  good  specimen.  But  the — er — top?" 
Most  of  the  top  was  missing. 

"I'll  find  one  for  it  some  day.  Mean 
while — "  and  the  man  scratched  away  a 
17 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


bit  of  paint  and  varnish,  wet  his  finger, 
rubbed  it  on  the  scar,  and  a  flush,  red  as 
blood,  shone  forth. 

About  me  was  a  discouraging  jumble  of 
clocks,  tables,  bureaus,  mirrors,  brass 
candlesticks  and  dismantled  sofas,  quite 
dusty  and  piled  in  together  so  closely  that 
there  was  hardly  a  piece  wholly  visible. 
I  examined  a  mirror  with  a  gilt  frame. 
It  had  scallopy  sort  of  columns  on  the 
sides  and  a  cornice  overhead.  The  glass 
was  divided  by  a  gilt  strip  near  the  top 
•and  a  crudely  painted  picture  was  in  the 
upper  part.  I  remembered  that  the  fur 
niture  books  described  this  kind  as  "Em 


pire. 


''  A  fine  old  mirror,"  I  remarked  genially. 
18 


I  Get  the  Better  of  My  Aunt  in  a  Bargain  ' 

The  white-haired  man  glanced  up 
from  his  scraping. 

"  Copy,"  he  said,  and  resumed  his  work. 

I  moved  hastily  into  the  inner  room  and 
came  face  to  face  with  a  tall  clock  which 
looked  to  me  the  twin  of  the  one  my  aunt 

found.     Instantly  I  was  filled  with  a  pas- 

. 
sion,  remorseless,  unswerving,  indomitable, 

to  possess  that  clock  for  a  less  price  than 

my  aunt  had  paid  —  in  cash  —  for   hers.    fl 

J  ev» 

She  had  paid  only  twenty  dollars,  but  I  & 
must  humble  her  pride.  Everything  else  rtyr 
vanished  into  the  background,  the  glass-  JUl 
knobbed  chests  of  drawers,  the  oval  frames 
without  pictures,  the  haircloth-covered 
chairs  and  the  broken  sofa;  the  clock  stood 
forth  compelling,  aloof,  magnificent.  True 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

there  was  another  clock  that  I  personally 
would  have  preferred.  It  had  a  delicate 

Aline  of  inlay  forming  a  panel  on  the  tall, 
narrow  door  opening  into  the  pendulum 
apartment,  and  its  silver  face  was  beauti- 

My 

s~  fully  engraved,  without  spandrels.     It  bore 

Jji^  the    name    and    date,    "Daniel    Burnap, 

Andover,   Ct.,    1785."     But   all   that  was 

a  detail.     The  other  was  surely  like  my 

J$y  aunt's. 

I  called  the  man  and  inquired  the  price. 
"That  clock,"  he  replies,  eying  it  affec 
tionately,   "was   made   in   Springfield,   by 
Jacob  Sargent,  a  hundred  years  ago.    The 
works  are  of  brass  and  the  face  has  the 
moon's   phases   and   calendar.     I   wanted 
one  hundred  and  twenty  five  dollars  for  it, 
20 


/  Get  the  Better  of  My  Aunt  in  a  Bargain 


but  it  has  been  here  two  years  for  some 
reason,  and  you  can  have  it  for  ninety 
dollars." 

"Do  you  exchange  for  other  furniture," 
I  asked. 

"Certainly,  but  I  must  have  part 
cash." 

"Til  tell  you  what  I'll  do,"  I  exclaimed. 
"I  want  that  clock  and  I  want  several 
other  things  I  see  here,  but  for  this  particu- 

a 

lar  purchase  I  can't  pay  more  than  nine 
teen  dollars  in  cash,  but  I'll  be  generous 
on  the  exchange." 

We  will  not  go  into  the  details  of  that 
J,^  exchange.     The   man   came  that  evening 
A    to    my   home    and,   as   he   appraised   one 
:    offering  after  another,  the  amount  needed 

21 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


I 


to  fill  the  gap  between  nineteen  and  ninety 
crawled  up  with  such  astonishing  slowness 
that  I  began  to  wonder  if  I  were  not  paying 
on  too  large  a  policy  for  my  furniture  in 
surance.  But  as  I  watched  the  white- 
haired  man  drive  away  under  cover  of  the 
night  with  his  well-filled  wagon,  and  then 
turned  and  closed  the  door  and  looked 
triumphantly  up  at  the  tall,  slender  clock, 
f.  its  polished  mahogany  sides  glowing  in 
the  lamplight  and  its  brass  eagle  perched 
gloriously  aloft,  I  began  to  anticipate  with 
fervent  delight  the  moment  when  I  should 
reveal  it  to  my  aunt  and  tell  her  I  had 
paid  for  it  one  dollar  less  —  in  cash  — 
than  she  had  for  hers. 


III 


MY   AUNT   GETS   THE    BETTER   OF   ME 

I  HAD  passed  my  protracted  and  some 
what  expensive  novitiate  when  I  dis 
covered    the    Scrutoir.      My    home    had 
X   a     chastened     appearance    inside.     Many 
wr  pieces,   once   costly,    but,   when    regarded 
with  enlightenment,  unbeautiful,  had  dis- 
•^  appeared    and    the    various    rooms    had 
a   gradually  taken  on  an  aspect  which  would 
^  have  caused  my  Revolutionary  ancestors, 
Jvl  were  they  to  visit  me  in  the  flesh,  to  feel 
singularly  at  home  and  to  conclude  that 
ft  the    world    had    not    changed    so    much 

23 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

after  all.  The  white-haired  man  of  the 
Old  Curiosity  Shop  now  had  a  seemingly 
genuine  respect  for  me  and  secured  far 
less  merchandise  in  the  exchange  than  at 
his  first  masterly  haul  in  re  the  tall  clock. 
I  sat  with  him  now  and  then  before  the 
open  Franklin  stove,  of  a  late  winter 
afternoon,  and  discussed  values.  I  had 
somewhat  familiarized  myself  with  the 
=  antique  shops  of  New  York  and  had 
made  one  or  two  visits  to  those  of  Brook- 
lyn  and  Philadelphia,  and  learned  that, 
while  in  the  cities  there  was  a  fairly  uni- 
form  system  of  prices,  the  old  man  based 
his  somewhat  on  the  price  he  had  paid  for 
the  various  pieces.  Thus,  he  would  price 
two  sofas  of  great  smilarity  at  forty  and 
24 


My  Aunt  Gets  the  Better  of  Me 

eighty-five  dollars  respectively,  because  he 
had  paid  nine  dollars  for  one  and  thirty 
dollars  for  the  other.  There  was  no 
mathematical  proportion  between  what 
he  paid  and  what  he  asked  because  he 
always  scraped,  patched,  and  repolished 
the  pieces  and,  of  course,  some  required 
far  more  work  than  others.  In  the  city 
the  price  for  either  of  these  sofas,  which 
were  massive  Empire-style  ones  with 
straight  backs,  unupholstered,  would  be 
about  one  hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars. 
I  needed  a  desk  for  my  den.  A  year 
ago  I  would  have  gone  out  and  ordered  a 
roll-top  one  sent  home.  But  now  the  re 
alization  of  the  fact  that  I  really  needed  a 
desk  stole  over  me  with  a  delicious  sense 
25 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

of  a  new  pleasure  in  store.  It  meant  a 
quest.  I  needed,  not  a  desk,  but  the  desk, 
the  one,  soul-satisfying,  perfectly  appro 
priate  finishing  touch  to  the  room.  Life 
at  once  took  on  a  fairer  aspect.  The 
world  became  what  it  is  to  the  joyous 
eyes  of  youth,  full  of  possibilities. 

The  Old  Curiosity  Shop  had  desks,  but 
not  the  one  for  me.  So  it  happened  that 
I  poached  upon  my  aunt's  preserves.  Hith 
erto  she  had  remained  faithful  to  Old 
Pierre  and  Young  Pierre  and  I  had  been 
"  loyal  to  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop.  But  one 
day,  when  I  had  been  making  a  visit  to 

JyL.  my  aunt  to  see  an  enormous,  upholstered 
easy-chair  she   had  secured,  I  mentioned 

jjl    the  present  object  of  my  life  and  I  caught 

26 


My  Aunt  Gets  the  Better  of  Me 


a  fleeting  expression  in  her  eyes  which 
caused  the  thought  to  flash  into  my  mind 
that  a  visual  image  of  the  thing  I  described 
had  mirrored  itself  in  them.  And  she 
changed  the  conversation  with  suspicious 
promptness  and  made  an  entirely  unneces 
sary  confession,  evidently  to  distract  my 
attention.  She  remarked  that  she  had 
come  to  the  painful  conclusion  that  my 
tall  clock  was  really  a  better  one  than  hers. 
Hers  was  not  an  eight-day  one  as  she  had 
believed,  but  ran  down  with  great  regularity 
just  short  of  six  days.  The  clockmaker 
had  examined  its  works  and  swore  they 
were  eight-day  ones  and  in  perfect  condi 
tion,  and  that  the  clock  shouldn't  run 
down  in  less  time  than  that.  But  this 
27 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

only  added  mystery  to  the  situation  with 
out  helping  it. 

But  I  was  thinking  of  desks,  not  clocks, 
and  remembering  my  aunt's  expression 
when  I  had  mentioned  the  subject,  I 
decided  to  carry  the  war  into  the  enemy's 
country  and  I  visited  the  emporium  of 
Old  Pierre  and  Young  Pierre.  And  there, 
of  course,  I  found  my  Scrutoir. 

It  had  a  bookcase  top  of  three  shelves, 
with  glass-paneled  doors  and  tiny  sashes 
with  Gothic  arches.  Below  these  and 
just  above  the  desk  drawer  were  innum 
erable  pigeon  holes  concealed  with  plain 
wood  doors  with  veneered  panels  of  rich, 
"tree  calf"  grain.  The  desk  drawer  had 
a  green  felt  pad  top  which  slid  back  as 
28 


My  Aunt  Gets  the  Better  of  Me 


only  old  desk-drawers  can  slide,  and  below 
it  was  a  space  for  writing  paper.  Under- 

Ineath  this  were  three  generous  drawers  with 
glass  knobs  and  exceedingly  handsome 
grain.  The  piece  was  mahogany,  well 

f"  *  k^ 

Arefinished  in  dull  tone. 
Young  Pierre  extolled  its  beauties,  but 
his  oratory  was  unnecessary.     The  Scru- 
o   toir    spoke    for    itself.     He    came    gently 
Jjydown  from  one  hundred  and  ten  dollars 

Q 

to  one  hundred  dollars,  ninety  dollars, 
*  seventy-five  dollars,  and  seventy  dollars  to 
sixty-five  dollars  and  stuck  there.  He 
would  take  fifty-five  dollars  in  cash  and 
ten  dollars  in  exchange,  and  I  thought  of 
a  mantel-board  with  mirror  backs  and 
bric-a-brac  shelves  I  no  longer  needed. 
29 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

But  I  decided  not  to  close  with  him  at 
once,  hoping  to  get  him  to  take  another 
furl  in  his  sail  if  I  came  again. 

The  next  afternoon  on  my  way  home 
from  business  I  stopped  there,  and  my 
heart  sank  as  I  saw  that  the  desk  was 
gone.  Young  Pierre  was  away  for  the 
day  on  an  old  furniture  hunt  and  Old 
Pierre  met  me  with  impassive  countenance. 
He  did  not  know  that  I  had  been  there 
and  had  bargained  for  it  yesterday,  and 
he  had  that  very  morning  sold  it,  he  said, 
to  one  of  his  customers  who  had  taken  a 
sudden  fancy  for  it.  And  she  had  sent 
an  expressman  for  it  barely  two  hours  ago. 

Moodily  and  in  deep  dejection  I  took 
myself  home.  It  was  a  cold,  desolate 
3° 


A 


My  Aunt  Gets  the  Better  of  Me 


winter's  day.  The  skies  glowered  and 
the  road  lay  dark  and  lonesome  before 
me.  I  pictured  myself  entering  the  house 
and  seeing  the  blank  space  in  the  den 
which  I  had,  the  evening  before,  cleared 
for  this  new  prize.  I  entered  the  house 
silently,  put  my  coat  on  the  console-table, 
which  until  now  always  gave  me  a  thrill 
of  joy,  entered  my  den  and  turned  up  the 
light. 

There,  in  the  space  I  had  so  lovingly 
prepared,  stood  the  Scrutoir,  harmonizing 
with  the  room  yet  dominating  it  in  its 
dignity  and  beauty.  The  polished  panels 
glowed  like  wine  in  the  light  and  its  tiny 
sashed  glass  doors  seemed  to  sparkle  a 
joyous  welcome  to  me.  Dazed,  I  ap- 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


proached  it  and  saw  a  note,  addressed  to 
me,  lying  upon  its  partly  opened  desk 
drawer.  It  was  from  my  aunt. 

"Instinct  tells  me,"  it  read,  "that  you 
have  already  seen  this  little  token  of  my 
affection  for  you.  Did  you  bargain  for  it 
with  Young  Pierre  ?  His  father  thought 
some  one  had  spoken  to  him  about  it 
yesterday  but  didn't  know  if  he  talked  of 
prices.  I  paid  him  fifty  dollars  in  cash 
for  it  and  took  the  liberty  of  sending  him 
your  old  cherry  mantel-board  to  complete 
the  payment,  as  I  remembered  you  said 
you  wanted  to  get  rid  of  it." 


1 
I 
i 

1. 

i 

A 


IV 


THE    HOMESICK   MANTELPIECE 

1LET  myself  into  my  bachelor  home 
late  one  afternoon  on  my  return  from 
town  with  a  pleasant  feeling  of  expectancy. 
A  few  days  previously  I  had  been  passing 
through  Elizabeth  in  my  motor  and 
happened  upon  a  quaint  old  house  which 
they  were  just  about  to  demolish.  I 
alighted  and  went  inside,  entirely  out 
of  curiosity,  and  there,  in  the  little  par 
lor  on  the  right  of  the  hall,  was  an 
exquisite  old,  white-painted  mantelpiece, 
into  which  a  couple  of  Hibernian  work- 
33 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


men   were  just   about  to  insert  their  cold 
chisels. 

With  a  Woodman-spare-that-tree  im 
pulse,  I  stayed  their  hands,  looked  up  the 
"boss"  and  for  a  modest  pecuniary  com 
pensation  I  succeeded  in  arranging  to  have 
it  carefully  removed  by  a  cabinet-maker 
and  shipped  home  to  me.  It  was  a  dainty 
bit  of  architecture,  standing  shoulder  high. 
The  edge  of  the  shelf  was  ornamented 
with  a  hand-carved  beading,  and  just  be 
neath  it,  where  its  inner  side  met  the 
supporting  cornice,  was  a  delicate  egg- 
and-dart  moulding.  The  broad,  simple 
cornice  was  decorated  only  with  a  medal 
lion  in  the  center,  representing  an  Ameri-. 
can  shield  with  an  eagle  on  it,  forming  the 
34 


The  Homesick  Mantelpiece 

center  of  a  group  of  crossed  swords  and 
half-furled  flags,  all  carved  in  high  relief. 
This  cornice  was  supported  on  each  side 
of  the  wide  fireplace  opening  by  a  square, 
deep-fluted  pilaster,  and  the  ends  of  the 
mantel  were  held  up  by  slender  and 
graceful  columns.  Over  each  pilaster  and 
column  was  an  old  medallion,  two  with 
carved  fruit  pieces  and  two  of  slender 
urns.  Behind  it,  on  each  side  of  the 
chimney,  was  a  dear  little  cupboard  for 
books  or  pipes  or  other  accessories  of 
good  cheer.  But  it  was  the  proportions 
of  the  mantelpiece  that  made  it  especially 
charming. 

So,    to-day,    as    I    let    myself   into    my 
house,   I   hoped  to   find   this   gem,   saved 
35 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


from  the  wreck.  And  there  it  was,  care 
fully  removed  from  its  burlap  and  dusted 
off  by  my  faithful  Jap,  leaning  against 
one  of  the  built-in  bookcases  in  my 
library.  I  divested  myself  of  my  wraps 
and,  lighting  a  cigarette,  sank  luxuriously 
into  a  lounge-chair  and  glanced  comfort 
ably  about  me.  Surely  the  bachelor's 
estate  was  decidedly  the  most  reasonable 
and  logical  one  in  this  modern  life.  No 
household  cares,  —  my  little  establishment 
was  perfectly  run  by  my  two  Japanese 
boys,  —  no  responsibilities,  no  ties.  I  was 
free  to  go  and  come  as  I  pleased.  What 
a  preposterous  idea  that  was  of  young 
Carlton's  to  get  married!  As  a  bachelor 
on  a  small  salary  and  no  independent 

36 


1 
fl 

1 

1 


. 


1 

A 

Jit 


The  Homesick  Mantelpiece 

means,  he  was  full  of  possibilities.  He 
could  have  kicked  over  the  traces  at  any 
time  and  tried  his  luck  in  South  America 
or  California  or  Africa,  to  return,  perhaps  a 
gold  mine  owner  or  a  Peruvian  general  or 
ranchman.  All  up  for  that  sort  of  thing 
now!  He  would  probably  forge  ahead 
in  time,  but  with  horrible  slowness,  and 
there  was  no  let-up  in  the  meantime. 
And  all  because  a  girl  with  trustful  eyes 
looked  at  him  a  few  times  and  said  she 
believed  in  him!  I  threw  away  the  ciga 
rette  and  rang  for  my  slippers.  I  should 
take  a  comfortable  half-hour  to  myself 
before  dressing  for  dinner.  A  couple  of 
fellows  were  coming  in  for  it. 

I    looked    proudly    at   the   new   mantel 
37 


» 


- 


4 

i 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

leaning  against  the  bookcases  and  tried 
to  imagine  it  a  home  hearth-side.  A  coal 
fire  would  be  glowing  in  it  and  my  wife 
would  be  sitting  near  me.  Black  hair  or 
brown  ?  Brown  and  wavy.  Young,  of 
course,  slender,  pretty  house-dress,  pink 
with  some  of  that  puckered  up,  popcorn- 
like  trimming.  She  would  drop  her  scis 
sors.  I  would  pick  them  up.  She  is 
knitting  or  embroidering  or  something,  - 
perhaps  darning  my  —  no,  she  would  not 
do  that  in  the  evening  —  probably  some 
thing  with  a  hoop  stretching  out  part  of  it. 
"No  special  news  in  town,"  I  say. 
"Cook  is  going  to  leave,  eh?"  Um  — 
Did  the  plumber  mend  the  laundry  leak  ? 
Yes,  it  is  time  the  sweet  peas  were  planted. 

38 


The  Homesick  Mantelpiece 


I 

1 


Do  you  remember,  dear  —  or  darling  — 
no,  'dear'  is  better  —  do  you  remember, 
dear,  that  afternoon  we  paddled  out  on 
Lake  Placid  together  and  I  read  Lanier 
to  you  ?  —  Yes,  —  yes,  —  yes,  —  lovely, 
wasn't  it  ?  How  good  it  is  to  have  you 
all  to  myself  here  in  our  own  little  home 
with  the  fire  burning  on  the  hearth!  Yes, 
I  ordered  the  coal  yesterday.  Do  you 
remember  how  we  used  to  — " 

It  was  rather  an  attractive  picture.  I 
regarded  the  mantel  critically  in  its  tem 
porary  resting-place.  Then  I  looked 
around  at  the  bachelor  den  with  its 
upholstered  easy-chairs,  its  pipe-racks  and 
big  table  piled  with  magazines  and  a 
few  favorite  books.  Somehow  the  place 
39 


r.-o' 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

seeemd  a  trifle  lonesome  to-night.  It  was 
that  beastly  mantel,  probably  a  little 
homesick  itself,  in  its  new  environment. 
Poor  old  chap!  What  scenes  of  homely 
cheer  and  contentment  it  had  looked  out 
upon  during  its  long  life!  It  was  a  left  over 
from  simpler  and  less  sophistocated  days. 
It  seemed  a  trifle  brutal  to  have  it  scraped 
and  enameled  and  set  up  in  my  billiard 
room.  I  felt  a  sudden  sympathy  for  it, 
ruthlessly  torn  from  a  home  and  set  up  in 
a  modern  bachelor's  establishment.  Yes, 
perhaps  it  was  a  little  lonesome  at  times! 
-  Still,  —  and  thus  ruminating  I  took 
myself  up-stairs  to  dress  for  dinner. 


8 


1 


V 


IN  WHICH  ALL  RULES  FOR  TRADE  ARE 
OVERTURNED 

to  her  house  as  she  had,  she  tele-    ft 
phoned  me,  solved  the  mystery  as  to  why  *r 
the  tall  clock  which  she  had  purchased  —  ^ 
the  one  which  had  goaded  me  to  buy  a 
similar    one  —  ran   down   every  six    days 
instead  of  running   for  eight.     I  was  cu 
rious   to   know,  so   I  went   at  once.     She 
asked   me  to  open  the  long  door  to  the 


pendulum  compartment,  and  put  my  head     f\ 
inside.     I    got   down   on    mv   hands    and     « 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


knees,  and,  though  it  hurt  my  ears,  I  got 
my  head  in.  It  was  dark  in  there  and  I 
saw  nothing,  so  withdrew  it. 

"Tap  the  bottom,"  said  my  aunt,  "and 

Iyou  will  see  that  it  is  a  false  one." 
I  did  so  and  it  sounded  hollow.     Ex 
amination  with  a  candle  revealed  the  fact 

•C'.O 

that  the  bottom  had   been  inserted   at  a 
^  later  period  than  that  of  the  making  of 
^  the  imposing  timepiece.     There  was  un 
fit   doubtedly   a   compartment   concealed   be- 
a    neath  it! 

"  Long  ago,"  said  my  aunt,  in  an  excited 
tone,  "before  safe  deposit  vaults  were 
known,  our  ancestors  used  to  conceal  their 
valuables  in  out-of-the-way  places,  some 
times  in  the  brick  fireplaces,  sometimes  in 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 


the  well,  sometimes  in  a  hollow  log  and 
sometimes  in  massive  pieces  of  furniture,    j 
That  false  bottom  was  put  in  the  clock 
for  that   purpose   and  Old   Pierre   hadn't 
discovered  it  when  he  sold  it  to  me. 
can't   open   it  without   putting  the   clock 
over  on  its  side.     It  needs  a  man  with  a 
few  tools  to  take  out  the  works  first." 

"Perhaps  the  treasure  is  still  there,"  I 
exclaimed-  "Sheffield  plate,  old  docu 
ments,  daguerreotypes,  silver!" 

"Perhaps,"  quod    my  aunt,  "some  day    « 
we  will  open  it.     And  now  I  want  you  to  Jill 

9 

take  me  to  Mendham  this  afternoon.     Old    Ijl 

*A/c* 

Pierre  has  just  inadvertently  let  fall  a 
secret.  He  told  me  the  name  of  the  place 
in  Mendham  where  he  has  bought  several 

43  ^ 

I 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


1 


pieces  of  old  furniture.     And  if  Old  Pierre 
bought    them,    he    bought    them    cheap. 
*,  There  is  a  highboy  there  for  sale,  and  if 
you  want  it  we  must  go  at  once." 

It  was  a  glorious  midwinter  day.     The 
sun  shone  in  a  cloudless  sky,  the    roads 
were  frozen  hard  and  were  free  from  snow. 
>  It  was   very  early  in   the   afternoon   and 

AMendham  was  scarcely  twenty-five  miles 
away.  So  presently,  comfortably  wrapped 
in  furs,  we  were  spinning  along  the  wide 
Macadam  road  on  our  new  quest. 

"Your  Old  Curiosity  Shop  man  told 
me  the  other  day,"  remarked  my  aunt, 
"that  the  old  wing  chair  with  claw  and 
ball  feet  which  he  is  asking  thirty  dollars 
for,  unrepaired  and  unupholstered,  he  got 
44 


1 
1 
i 


r\ 


i 
1 


V 

i 
A 

4 


I 


I 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 

from  a  carpenter  who  had  done  some 
work  for  him.  The  carpenter  said  he 
had  a  dilapidated  old  chair  at  home  and 
would  be  glad  to  get  rid  of  it.  The 
Old  Curiosity  Shop  man  went  down 
and  looked  at  it.  It  was  covered  with 
calico  and  somewhat  broken,  but  he  saw 
at  once  that  it  was  a  good  piece  and 
worth  at  least  thirty  dollars  just  as  it 
stood 

"What   a   shabby   old    chair!'    he   ex 
claimed  artfully. 

"'Yes,'  said  the  carpenter,  'I  don't 
suppose  it  is  worth  four  or  five  dollars  to 
you,  is  it  ? ' 

"'Well,'   said  the  Old  Curiosity  Shop 

man,  'it  will  take  a  lot  of  fixing  over,  but 

45 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

I'll  give  you  three  dollars  and  a  half  for 
it!'  And  he  got  it." 

"I  call  that  downright  dishonest,"  I 
cried,  indignantly.  That  is  one  thing  that 
disgusts  me  in  this  collecting  mania. 
People  lose  all  moral  sense  in  making 
bargains.  Here  was  a  chair  really  worth 
thirty  dollars,  and  just  because  the  owner 
didn't  know  it,  the  dealer  cheated  him. 
He  might  at  least  have  given  him  fifteen 
for  it  and  been  satisfied  with  a  hundred 
per  cent  commission." 

"I  think  myself,"  admitted  my  aunt, 
"that  that  last  fifty  cents  was  rather  mean. 
But  I  am  a  woman  and  I  suppose  all 
women  love  bargains." 

"Still,"  I  argued,  "you  would  never  be 
46 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 

so  rapacious  as  that.     It  is  all  well  enough    Q 
to  beat  the  dealers  down  all  you  can,  for  III 

^lAi^i*' 

it  is  a  case  of  your  wits  against  theirs  and    9\ 
I   don't  object  to   buying  a   piece   cheap  4J 
from  an  ignorant  owner  if  he  doesn't  know 
the  value,  but  squeezing  them  down  like 
that,  making  them  think  a  piece  has  no  Jl 
value  when  you  know  it  has,  and  while   $ 
they  trust  somewhat  to  your  representa-  *^T 
tions,  and  then  walking  off  with  it  almost  Jjl, 
for   nothing    is    downright    piracy.     "Be 
sides,"  I  concluded,  "it's  small  and  mean." 

"But  think  of  the  pleasure  of  telling 
people  what  a  bargain  you  have  made!" 
said  my  aunt,  argumentatively. 

"If  they  were  the  right  kind  of  people 
they  wouldn't  admire  you  for  it,"  I  said. 
47 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


"There  is  an  ethical  difference  between  a 
clever  bargain  and  an  avaricious  cut 
throat  one.  And  it  puzzles  me  how  re 
spectable  people  can  brag  about  how  they 
have  hoodwinked  honest  country  people 
into  parting  with  their  things  almost  for 
nothing.  I  should  think  they  would  be 
ashamed  to  speak  of  it  even  if  they  were 
mean  enough  to  do  so.  And  you  would 
be  the  last  one  to  do  it  yourself,  too,  and 
you  know  it." 

"No  one  knows  what  one  would  do  at 
the  critical  moment,"  she  said,  senten- 
tiously.  "How  do  7  know  what  you 
might  do,"  she  continued,  "under  strong 
temptation  ?  " 

With   such   wise   discourse   as   this   did 


1 


s»^»- 

i 

AH  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 


we  improve  our  minds  as  we  sped  along 
through  the  keen  air,  till,  sweeping  over 
the  hills  of  Bernardsville,  with  its  great 
country  houses  closed  up  for  the  winter,  - : 
the  flower  gardens  buried  in  straw,   and 

M^" 

the  spacious  and  ornate  stables  deserted,   k 

. 
we  spied  the  walls  of  Mendham  across  the  - 

fields   and   presently  were  inquiring  of  a 
villager  the  whereabouts  of  "  Greystone." 

When  we  drew  up  before  its  door  we  • 
found  it  to  be  a  delightful  old  gable-roof  1)1 

*  ^\f^ 

house  of  smooth-cut  brown  stone,  evidently 
constructed  just  prior  to  the  Revolution,    « 
with    solid     panel    shutters,    small-paned  JU- 
windows  and  a  white  enameled  door  with  J[|, 

o 

highly  polished  brass  knocker  upon  it,  a 
lunette    window    above,    narrow    ones    at    & 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


I 

1 


each  side,  and  pew  seats  extending  out 
on  each  side  of  the  low  "stoop"  to  grace 
ful  columns  supporting  the  half-circle 
porch  roof.  Up  from  the  white  picket 
front  fence  extended  a  brick  path  to  the 
door,  with  flower  beds  on  each  side, 
now  hidden  well  under  dry,  frost-rimed 
leaves. 

A  trim,  white-capped  housemaid  ad 
mitted  us  into  a  wide  hall,  at  the  rear  of 
which  a  back  door  evidently  opened  upon 
the  garden  in  the  rear  and  an  orchard  in 
the  distance.  We  seated  ourselves  in  the 
parlor  on  the  right  and  uttered  suppressed 
exclamations  of  wonder  and  delight.  The 
rooms  were  simply  crowded  with  magnifi 
cent  old  furniture  in  perfect  order,  and 
5° 


1 
1 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 


upon  the  walls  hung  glorious  old  gilt- 
framed  mirrors  and  oil  portraits  softened 
and  enriched  in  tone  by  the  lapse  of  many 
years.  Miss  Greylock  entered  presently, 
a  slender,  white-haired,  delicate-looking 
gentlewoman  in  soft  black  silk.  She 
seemed  slightly  embarrassed  when  my 
aunt  stated  the  commercial  reason  of  our 

Tcall,  and  said  hesitatingly: 
"Why,  yes,  I  have  a  few  old  pieces  of 
furniture  which  I  rather  want  to  sell,  but 
I  hardly  know  the  value  of  them.  The 
highboy  you  speak  of  is  in  the  rear  of 
the  hall,"  and  she  led  the  way  out  under 
the  stairway  landing  which  was  over  the 
rear  door.  My  aunt  and  I  gazed  at  the 

K 

piece  in  silent  rapture.     It  was  very  large 
S1 


i 


*• 
1 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

and  of  most  elaborate  workmanship.  My 
aunt  judged  that  its  date  was  about  1730. 
The  lower  part  was  supported  by  slightly 
curving  carved  legs  with  claw  and  ball 
feet,  the  small  central  lower  drawer  was 
ornamented  with  the  familiar  shell  and 
scroll  designs.  On  each  side  of  it  were 
two  small  square  drawers,  and  above  it  a 
long,  narrow  one.  The  upper  part  con 
sisted  of  three  large  drawers  and  five 
smaller  ones,  not  counting  a  square  one, 
also  carved  in  the  shell  and  scroll  pattern, 
which  was  between  the  fine  curves,  rising 
to  end  in  what  is  called  the  broken-arch 
cornice.  Above  the  cornice  in  the  center 
was  a  deeply  carved  torch.  The  lines  of 
the  piece  were  graceful,  the  drawers  were 
52 


8 

A 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 

overlapping,"    the    handles    of   ancient, 
burnished   brass   and  the  whole  piece  of 

F  richly  grained  mahogany. 
"What  —  what    is     the    price    of     it, 
please?"  stammered  my  aunt,  also  a  trifle 
embarrassed  at  talking  business,  and  strug 
gling  valiantly  to  suppress  her  enthusiasm. 

"Really,"  said  our  gentle  hostess,  "I 
know  so  little  of  the  values.  I  think," 
and  she  turned  with  a  winning  smile 
towards  us,  "  that  if  you  really  want  it,  I 
will  let  you  make  the  price.  It  is  really 
not  worth  very  much,  I  imagine,"  and  she 
led  the  way  back  into  the  front  parlor. 

Now  was  I  indeed  tempted  of  the  devil. 
Here  was  not  only  a  wonderful  chance  to 
acquire  a  superb  highboy,  but  to  make  the 
53 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

real  overwhelming  bargain  of  my  life. 
What  joy  to  discover  this  noble  piece  to 
my  envious  and  jealous  friends  and  then 
gloat  over  them  as  I  named  an  insignificant 
figure  as  the  price  I  had  paid  for  it.  This 
gentle  lady  had  placed  herself  entirely  at 
my  mercy.  I  felt  a  suddenly  awakened 
understanding  of  the  attitude  of  mind  of 
the  Old  Curiosity  Shop  man  when  he 
paid  three  dollars  and  a  half  for  the 
wing-back  chair.  After  all,  this  was  a 
commercial  world  we  live  in,  and  if  the 
seller  was  satisfied  —  I  do  not  say  that 
I  would  have  taken  undue  advantage  of 
this  old  lady's  innocence,  but  this  seething, 
surging  impulse  overwhelmed  me  at  that 
instant  and  held  me  trembling  in  its  grasp. 
54 


I  came  face  to  face  with  a  tall  clock      (Page  iqi) 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 


XAS* 

1 


: 


. 


I  have  since  then  searched  my  soul  to 
determine  how  I  would  have  acted  had 
not  a  totally  unexpected  and  miraculous 
event  transpired.  I  have  never  known 
how  to  decide  the  question. 

The  unexpected  and  miraculous  event 
was  that,  at  this  portentous  instant  an 
angel  came  to  the  rescue  of  my  soul  and 
saved  me  the  agony  of  deciding  how  to 
act.  We  three  were  standing  near  the 
front  parlor  window,  I  with  my  back  to 
it,  so  that  my  vision  commanded  the  room 
and  the  back  parlor  which  was  divided 
from  it  by  a  wide  folding  door.  Into  this 
back  room  there  came  from  the  rear  hall, 
quietly  and  in  innocence  of  the  high  mis 
sion  of  her  coming,  a  woman,  —  a  young 
55 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

and  beautiful  woman,  dressed  —  oh,  how 
do  I  know!  it  was  light  in  color  and 
clothed  her  graceful  figure  in  exquisite 

. 

<^)i,  lines,  and    her    brown    hair  seemed   sud 
denly  to  catch  the  fireglow  from  the  wood 
'^jT  fire  beneath  the  mantel.     Seeing  us,  she 
hesitated.     The  old  lady  turned  and  called: 
"Cynthia,  dear!" 

The     angel     approached     through     the 

Jy^  doorway,  and  after  the  little  formality  of 

H    introductions  were  made,  seeing  that  we 

twere  discussing  something,  she  retired  to 
the  fireplace  beyond  the  doorway. 

Gone    were    my    ignoble    temptations! 
All  the  world  was  generous  and  full  of 
kindly  love. 
I  side-stepped. 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 

"If  you  and  my  aunt  will  arrange  the 
price,"  I  said  genially,  "whatever  you 
decide  upon  will  be  entirely  satisfactory 
to  me." 

A  moment  later  I  had  wandered  across 
the  room,  leaving  the  two  ladies  sitting 
together  upon  the  davenport,  and  was 
helping  Cynthia  to  stir  the  log  fire. 

After  a  time  —  it  may  have  been  a 
short  time,  it  may  have  been  quite  long  - 
we  discovered  they  were  drinking  tea  and, 
at  their  call,  joined  them.  The  two  ladies 
seemed  to  come  back  reluctantly  from 
more  congenial  themes  to  the  business  of 
the  day. 

"  Bruce,"  said  my  aunt,  "  Miss  Greylock 
has  recently  come  into  possession,  through 
57 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


the  death  of  a  distant  relative,  of  a  number 
of  pieces  of  old  furniture  and,  her  home 
being  already  well  filled  with  it,  she  finds 
herself  embarrassed  at  having  so  much. 
Her  niece,  Miss  Cynthia,  who  is  visiting 
her  and  who  lives  near  Boston  —  Salem, 
did  you  say  ?  —  has  her  home  also  filled 
with  it,  and  Miss  Greylock  has  no  one  to 
whom  she  cares  to  give  it.  But  she  sadly 
undervalues  it  as  to  price,"  she  added. 

"Most  of  my  furniture  was  inherited," 
explained  Miss  Greylock.  "I  was  born 
and  brought  up  in  this  house,  furnished 
just  as  it  is,  and  I  am  really  quite  ignorant 
of  the  commercial  side  of  the  question. 
Your  aunt  and  I  have  discovered  some 
mutual  friends,  so  I  know  who  you  are," 


«/yt» 

i 


-. 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 


. 

A 

JW* 

A 

6 

1 


and  she  smiled  delightfully,  "and  I  really 
wish  you  would  arrange  the  price  to  suit 
yourself.  But  your  aunt  insists  that  I 
name  a  price  for  the  highboy.  Very  well! 
Twenty-five  dollars." 

"Twenty-five  dollars,"  I  exclaimed, 
aghast.  "Why,  I  should  never  think  of 
paying  any  price  like  that!  It's  worth 
over  a  hundred!" 

"Oh,  I  am  sure  you  are  mistaken,"  said 
Miss  Greylock,  "I  could  not  think  for  a 
moment  of  taking  anything  like  that. 
The  veneer  is  chipped,  the  piece  would 
have  to  be  entirely  done  over  —  besides, 
it  is  not  a  very  fine  piece.  I  have  much 
better  ones  up-stairs." 

Here  was  a  state  of  affairs  indeed  !  The 
59 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

eager  buyer  haggling  for  a  rare  piece  and 

heatedly  demanding  to  pay  more  than  the 

seller  wanted   to   take,  and   the   seller   as 

eagerly  decrying  her  wares!     My  aunt  and 

Miss     Greylock  —  her     name    was     also 

Greylock  —  Cynthia     Greylock  —  may    I 

say  it  again  ?  —  it  is  such  a  —  well,  never 

mind  —  looked     on    exchanging    amused 

smiles  and  comments  as  my  hostess   and 

.   myself  bargained   over  the    teacups.     By 

dint  of  masterly  work  on  my  part,  meeting 

her  arguments  with  stronger  ones,  I  finally 

'    succeeded  in  getting  her  up,  by  gradual 

,    steps,    to    fifty    dollars,    and    there    she 

r    became  adamant. 
> 

As  my  aunt  and  I  drove  away  homeward, 
the  superb  highboy  was  mine.     I  still  felt 
60 


All  Rules  of  Trade  Are  Overturned 

a  lingering  regret  at  the  price  and  an 
uneasy  questioning  as  to  whether  I  ought 
not  to  have  squeezed  the  seller  up  another 


"Well,"  said  my  aunt,  as  the  great 
lamps  of  the  motor  bored  holes  in  the 
darkness  before  us,  "you  lived  nobly  up 
to  your  convictions.'* 

But  I  did  not  feel  much  elated  at  the 
compliment.  I  thought  of  those  surging, 
seething  emotions  which  whelmed  me  for 
those  awful  moments  previous  to  the 
vision  in  the  back  parlor.  And  I  ques 
tioned  myself  seriously,  very  seriously. 


VI 


TOPSY-TURVY    BARGAINS 

IT  was  several  days  before  the  highboy 
arrived  from  Mendham  —  very  im 
patient  days  for  me.  I  had  sent  it  to  be 
done  over  and  the  delay  seemed  inter 
minable.  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop  and 
the  emporium  of  Old  Pierre  and  Young 
Pierre  had  lost,  to  me,  their  fascination 
and  I  longed  for  the  glowing  pieces  in  the 
little  gray  stone  house  tucked  away  among 
the  New  Jersey  hills,  for  the  cozy  parlor 
and  the  subdued  old  portraits,  and  for  the 
cheery  glow  of  the  back  parlor  fire.  I 
62 


1 


1 


Topsy-turvy  Bargains 

wanted  to  tell  Miss  Greylock  —  and  her 
niece  —  how  the  highboy  looked  amid  its 
new  surroundings. 

When  it  came  it  was  the  glory  of  my 
second-story  hall,  and  the  following  after 
noon  I  was  speeding  toward  Mendham. 
This  time  I  neglected  to  invite  my  aunt  to 
accompany  me.  Miss  Greylock  received 
me  with  charming  grace  and  showed  me 
several  other  pieces  she  was  willing  to 
dispose  of.  Among  them  was  a  bureau 
of  unusually  rich  mahogany  and  carving. 
In  discussing  it  I  had  an  opportunity  to 
show  off,  for  her  benefit,  some  of  my 
newly  acquired  knowledge  about  old  furni 
ture.  The  bureau,  as  we  now  use  the 
word,  I  explained  to  her,  meaning  a  chest 

63 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


of  drawers  with  a  mirror  on  top,  is  a 
comparatively  modern  piece  of  furniture. 
It  is  an  evolution  from  the  simple  Dutch 
chest  which  later  was  arranged  with 
drawers  to  pull  out,  instead  of  a  heavy 

Flid  to  lift  up.  Later  still,  in  the  seven 
teenth  century,  the  top  drawer  was  ar 
ranged  as  a  desk  and  the  word  "bureau" 

P  probably  comes  from  the  French  word 
burrel  or  bureau,  a  kind  of  coarse-woven 
cloth  which  covered  the  early  specimens 
before  fine,  polished  woods  were  used. 
When  the  little  mirror-stands  with  a  tiny 
drawer  or  two  were  introduced,  and  were 
stood  upon  these  bureau-desks,  some  one  hit 
upon  the  happy  idea  of  making  them  a 
part  of  it  and  thus  the  modern  dressing- 


Topsy-turvy  Bargains 


table  came  into  being,  after  two  or  three 
centuries  of  evolution. 

I  did  not  especially  need  a  bureau  but 
required  some  practical  errand  for  my  call, 
and,  of  course,  like  potted  meat,  it  would 
be  "handy  to  have  in  the  house."  Be 
sides,  this  really  was  a  beautiful  specimen. 

6 

The  mirror  was  supported  by  two  outward- 
curving  supports,  the  drawers  were  bor 
dered  with  a  delicate  line  of  inlay,  and 
each  front  edge  was  embellished  with  a 
deeply  carved  column. 

Again  Miss  Greylock  and  I  differed  as 
to  price.  She  demanded  thirty  dollars  for 

it  while  I  stuck  at  sixty.     She  had  not  the 
ft 

excuse  that  it  was  in  disrepair,  for  its  soft- 

1 

grained  sides  glowed  like  the  back  of  a 

65 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


well-groomed  chestnut  horse,  and  its  round, 
brass  handles  shone  like  gold.  We  sat  in 
the  front  parlor  bargaining  over  it  after 
we  had  come  in  from  the  extension  behind 
the  kitchen  where  it  was  stored.  Her 
niece  had  come  in  from  out-of-doors,  her 
cheeks  glowing  with  the  cold,  and  when 
we  began  to  talk  business  she  removed 
her  furs  and  outer  wraps  and  retired  to 
the  fireplace  in  the  back  parlor,  the  spot 
where  I  had  first  seen  her,  on  the  momen 
tous  occasion  of  my  first  visit  the  previous 
week.  She  took  up  a  book  and  opened 
it.  It  must  have  been  an  amusing  one,  for  I 
saw  her  laughing  quietly  to  herself  over  it 
from  time  to  time  as  we  talked,  —  though  I 
did  not  notice  her  turning  any  of  the  pages. 
66 


Topsy-turvy  Bargains 


"No  indeed,"  said  her  aunt,  firmly,  "I 
really  do  not  think  the  bureau  is  worth 
more  than  thirty  dollars.  I  fear  you  have  an 
entirely  erroneous  idea  of  these  old  pieces." 

"But,  my  dear  Miss  Greylock,"  I  ex 
postulated,  "such  a  piece  would  bring  a 
hundred  dollars  or  one  hundred  and 
twenty-five  anywhere  in  the  city.  I  know, 
for  I  have  bought  considerable  old  furni 
ture  lately,  and  you  could  get  fifty  or  sixty 
for  it  from  a  dealer.  Why  should  you 
sacrifice  it  to  me  ?  Let  me  pay  you  sixty 
for  it." 

"It  might  not  be  quite  so  pleasant 
having  to  bargain  with  a  dealer,"  was  the 
reply.  "Let  us  compromise  at  forty." 

"A  fair  compromise  between  thirty  and 

6? 


I 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


^V>7 

1 


sixty  would  be  forty-five,"  I  maintained 
firmly,  and  so,  at  last,  it  was  settled  that 
way.  Then  I  succeeded  in  buying  a  small 
haircloth-covered  sofa,  and  then,  Miss 
Greylock  excusing  herself  and  retiring 
up-stairs,  I  found  myself  sitting  beside 
Cynthia  while  she  brewed  a  pot  of  delicate 
Indian  tea  before  the  fire  in  the  back 
parlor.  Before  her  aunt  left,  however,  in 
answer  to  a  note  I  bore  from  my  aunt,  the 
ladies  had  accepted  an  invitation  to  lunch 
with  her  in  Orange  the  following  week. 

Miss  Cynthia  glanced  at  me  demurely 
as  she  handed  me  my  tea. 

"Are  you  really  fond  of  old  furniture," 
she  asked,  "or  is  it  because  your  aunt 
likes  it  so  much  ?" 

68 


fi 

I 


Topsy-turvy  Bargains 

"I  caught  the  fever  for  it,  in  the  first 
place,  from  her,"  I  replied,  "and  thought  I 
appreciated  it  fairly  well  before  I  came 
here.  But  "  —  and  I  glanced  about  the 
rooms  with  their  rich  ancestral  pieces  and 
then  looked  at  her,  the  heir  of  generations 
of  good  furniture-lovers,  with  the  ancient 
white  paneled  mantelpiece  behind  her. 
"  I  never  realized  its  true  beauties  till  now. 
Since  the  fever  has  now  become  chronic, 
won't  you  be  my  medical  adviser  and  see 
me  safely  through  it?" 

Cynthia  laughed  archly. 

"  I  really  think  you  do  need  some  one  to 
look  after  you,  if  you  bargain  with  other 
people  the  way  you  do  with  my  aunt.  I 
think  it  has  gone  to  your  head.  Is  that 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


i 


the  way  you  transact  business  in  New 
York?" 

I  smiled  as  I  tried  to  imagine  how 
absurd  my  topsy-turvy  bargaining  must 
have  sounded  to  a  third  party.  "  Perhaps 

LI  might,  if  I  dealt  with  people  as  charming 
as  your  aunt.  It  must  sound  rather  funny. 
What  would  you  prescribe  ?" 

"Take  a  course  in  modern  ware  as  an 
antidote.  Go  to  a  Sixth  Avenue  store 
where  they  sell  stamped  cotton  plush, 
stained  wood  'parlor  sets'  for  forty-nine 
fifty,  marked  down  from  fifty  dollars,  and 
price  their  stamped  oak  Morris  chairs  and 
Brussels  carpets." 

I    shuddered    at    the    awful    thought. 
"You   must  belong  to  the  old   school  of 
70 


— v— 

i 

i 

4 
I 


Topsy-turvy  Bargains 

practitioners,"  I  replied;  "your  prescription 
is  very  heroic.  I  don't  know  that  I  should 
like  you  —  as  a  doctor."  And  I  inconti 
nently  took  myself  off. 


VII 


THE    ROCOCO    LADY   AND   THE    HIGHLY 

ft 

VARNISHED    GENTLEMAN 

"  T  HAVE  invented   a  new  profession," 

A   I  remarked  suddenly. 
A      "What  is  it ?"  Cynthia  asked. 

3 

We  were  bowling  along  between  Madi- 
;    son  and  Morristown  on  a  glorious,  early 
spring    mid-afternoon.     The    forest    trees 


were  still  dark  and  bare,  but  a  faint  green 
.;[(    had   suffused   the  orchards   and   the   first 
H   burgeon  of  spring  was  noticeable.     Cyn 
thia  had  been  down  to  Orange  to  lunch 
^   with  my  aunt,  and  I  had  come  out  from 

72 


i 


The  Rococo  Lady 

town  early  in  order  to  take  her  home  in 
my  motor. 
"Furniturosophy,"    I    replied.     "There 

r  ' 

are  phrenologists  who  read  human  char-  My 

acter  by  the   head,  palmists  who   read  it 

J  r 

by  the  hand,   and  chirogrophists  who  de-   £ 
termine  it  by  the  handwriting.     Why  not 
a  Furniturosophist   or   Furniturographist,   / 
who  will  tell  it  by  the  furniture  one  has  \ 
in  his  house  ?     What  is  more  intimately  Jl 

•      t±AN_7 

connected  with  one's  life  than  the  furni 
ture  he  uses  daily  ?  It  must  have  a  dis 
tinct  influence  on  his  character,  just  as  the 
character  of  a  person  is  expressed  in  the 
furniture  he  likes. 

"For  instance,"  I  continued,  noticing  a 
faintly  mocking  aspect  in  the  merriment 
73 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


that  shone  in  my  companion's  eyes,  "look 
at  that  big,  ornate  stone  house  on  the  left, 
with  its  marble  lions  on  the  porch  steps, 
stained    to    look    antique,    its    terra-cotta 
well-head    standing   meaninglessly   in   the 
middle    of  the    lawn    with    no    path    ap 
proaching  it,  its  general  air  of  aggressive 
opulence.     Can't  you  imagine  how  it  looks 
^T'  inside  ?     Drawing-rooms,      Louis      Some- 
<ilj!r  thing;    Dining-room,    Renaissance;    hall, 
Jy[  Jacobean ;  with  everything  carried  to  the 
A   limit,   and   with   brocades   and    tapestries 
everywhere.     And  the  people!     The  mas 
ter,  Grand  Rapids  imitation  of  Georgian; 
M,  plenty  of  light,  new  mahogany  veneered 
ft   on  soft  wood;   apt   to  chip    and  warp    if 
too  closely  tested,  but  effective  and  looking 

4  7+ 


, 


The  Rococo  Lady 


almost  like  the  real.     His  wife,  a  combi 
nation  of  Elizabethan  and  Renaissance  - 
facade    ornate;     nothing     simple-colonial 
about  her,  —  all  brocades,  upholstery  and 
marquetry    inlay.     Her    daughter,  —  Ro 
coco,  though   a  trifle  toned  down;   figure 
graceful  but  with  much  ornament  overlaid 
-  like  an  ormulu  table,  for  instance,  or    X 
abulle  clock." 

Cynthia. 

"If  she  has  claws,  she  inherited  them 
from  her  father,"  I  answered,  "though 
clocks  don't  have  ball  feet." 

"Striking?" 

"Yes,  striking,"  I  said;  "rather  an 
alarm  clock  in  some  ways  and  runs  a 
75 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


vv»' 

1 


trifle  fast.  And  here's  a  little  house,"  I 
continued,  warming  up  to  my  theme, 

t"  where  the  people  are  as  sterling  and 
sound  and  elegant  as  their  inherited  ma- 
Ihogany  which,  I  am  sure  graces  the  rooms 
inside.  Can't  you  imagine  the  library 

with    real    books    in    it,  —  not    the    near 
^V^ 

literature  variety,  —  the  cozy  tea-table  with 

^  simple  old  silver,  well  polished,  the  piano 
with  good  music  piled  about  it,  the  few 
pictures,   all  well  chosen,  and  the  air  of 
culture  and  homeliness  and  quiet  beauty  ?" 
Cynthia  looked  back  at  it  interestedly 
-  we  were  running  very  slowly. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "and  the  lady  of  the 
house  is  gracious  and  charming,  I  am 
sure.  She  is  rather  young  and  whatever 

76 


The  Rococo  Lady 


she  wears  looks  well  on  her.  She  probably 
sings  a  little  —  to  her  friends  and  house 
hold  only  —  Brahms  and  Schumann  — 
and  her  children  are  well  mannered  and 
well  cared  for.  Her  husband  is  probably 
a  professional  man  and  belongs  to  the 
Mayflower  Society." 

"I  know  a  man,"  I  said,  pleased  that 
my  brilliant  idea  was  so  well  received, 
"who  always  reminds  me  of  a  rich  old 
sideboard,  well  polished  and  ruddy  of  hue, 
complacent  with  many  good  viands  stowed 
away,  a  repository  of  much  good  old  port 
and  sherry,  inclined  to  groan  with  the 
delicacies  of  the  season,  and  at  his  best  at 
dinner  time.  I  can  fancy  him  standing 
before  his  mahogany  prototype  and  ex- 
77 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


changing  knowing  winks  with  it  over  a 
glass  of  Burgundy,  and  reminiscences  of 
earlier  and  gallant  days,  of  many  congenial 
good  livers  they  have  known." 

"And  I  know  a  dear  old  lady,"  said 
Cynthia,  "who  is  exactly  like  a  black 
walnut  'what-not/  Do  you  know  what 
a  'what-not'  is?  One  of  those  triangular 
corner  stands  with  shelves  holding  what 
were  considered  curios  a  generation  ago, 
-  a  big  sea  shell  with  pink  lining,  a  piece 
of  American  Indian  shell  and  bead  work, 
a  photograph  of  Uncle  Ezra  and  Cousin 
Lottie  in  a  *  rustic'  frame,  and  a  few  books 
such  as  'Gems  of  Sacred  Song'  and  'The 
Orators'  Garland.'  She  doesn't  date  back 
to  the  aristocratic  mahogany  period,  nor  is 


The  Rococo  Lady 


«^v»» 

i 


she  in  touch  with  what  is  called  modern 
society,  with  a  large  S.     She  stands  mod 
estly  in  the  corner  and  looks  silently  on 
at  what  is  going  on  about  her  and  is  sel 
dom  noticed.     She  would  be  rather  em 
barrassed  with  much  attention,  in  fact  is 
perfectly  contented  in  her  corner.     She  is  Jl 
a  left-over  from  our  transition,  mansard-    £ 
roof-and-Eastlake-furniture  period.      Yes,  £$> 
I  like  your  idea,  Furniturosophy.     I  think  jl 
there  is  something  in  it." 

"There    is    a    lot   in    it!"    I    cried    en-  *)[* 

. 
thusiastically.      "Look     back    in    history 

and   see  how  furniture  reflected  the  spirit    A 

i 

of  the  times,  the  picturesque,  —  rudely 
carved  chairs  of  the  Northmen,  the  be- 
jeweled  divans  of  medieval  Turkey,  the 
79 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

pomp  and  gold  of  the  French  Empire, 
the  —  " 

"The  totem  poles  of  Alaska?"  inter 
rupted  Cynthia. 

"Of  course,"  said  I,  "and  the  bronze 
tables  and  lamps  of  Pompeii." 

"I  often  think,"  mused  Cynthia,  "of 
the  influence  that  the  beautiful,  imported 
furniture  which  was  brought  home  to 
Salem,  where  I  live,  must  have  had,  —  a 
distinctly  refining  influence  on  the  families 
of  the  merchant-sailor  captains.  In  my 
great-grandfather's  day  the  harbor  was 
busy  with  wharves  and  shipping.  Great 
white-winged  clippers  sailed  away  to  the 
East  Indies  and  brought  home  rich  cargoes 
to  make  prosperous  the  families  of  the 
80 


The  Rococo  Lady 

ship-owners.  And,  with  increasing  wealth, 
they  brought  back  fine  old  inlaid  furniture 

from  Holland,  mirrors  from  France,  and 

111 

what    we    now    call    colonial    mahogany, 

Sheffield  plate,  gold  and  copper  luster  and 

A  silver  from  England.  In  those  days  cheap, 
manufactured  furniture  was  not  made.  If 
_ 

people  were  not  rich  they  did  not  fill  their 
houses  with  cheap  and  gaudy  stuff.  They 
had  little,  but  what  they  had  was  good. 
The  sea  captains  remained,  many  of 


them,  bluff  and  rough  till  they  died,  but 
their  wives  and  sons  and  daughters  lived 
amid  graceful  Hepplewhite  or  Sheraton 
or  Chippendale  furniture,  dining-tables 
not  varnished  but  polished  each  day  by 

A  hand,  beds  with  carved  posts  well  draped, 
Sr 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


comfortable    davenports    and    wing-back 
chairs,    dignified    tables    and    lamps    with 

cut-glass  pendants.     Many  of  the  captains, 

ft  \\ 
•4A*  too,  were  cultured  gentlemen.     My  great- 

A  grandfather  was." 
fo 
"He  must  have  been,"  I  murmured. 

p 
JL      "Most  of  my  neighbors,"  she  continued, 

"live  in  large  brick  houses  with  columned 
a    porches,  filled  with  mahogany,  glass,  and 

$,,  silver    that    is    nowadays    priceless.     The 

A^ 
beauty  of  it  all  grew  into  the  lives  of  these 

*  people.  They  love  all  things  that  are 
good  and  beautiful  and  they  treasure  their 

4&  old  portraits  and  samplers  and  yellow 
laces.  When  the  young  people  give 
fancy-dress  affairs,  the  old  costumes 
that  come  forth  from  old  trunks  and 


1 


'The  Rococo  Lady 


cedar  chests  in  the  attics  are  wonder 
ful." 

"And  your  own  home?"  I  asked. 

"Is  overflowing  with  it.  That  is  why 
I  don't  mind  my  aunt  selling  the  pieces 
more  than  I  do,  though  I  do  mind  a  little, 
merely  sentimentally,  I  suppose." 

"Do  you  mind  her  disposing  of  them  to 
me?"  I  inquired. 

She  glanced  swiftly  at  me.  Was  it  the 
wind  tinting  her  cheek  ? 

"  Not  so  much  to  you  as  - 

"As  what?" 

She  laughed  softly. 

"I  know  one  or  two  families,"  she  con 
tinued,  smiling,  "that  sold  most  of  their 
old  mahogany  about  thirty-five  years  ago 

83 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

and  refurnished  their  houses  with  brand- 
new  black  walnut,  Brussels  carpets,  and 
gorgeous,  framed  chromos,  and  they  felt 
very  superior  to  their  neighbors  because 
they  were  in  the  latest  style." 

"And  speaking  Furniturographically, 
how  would  you  describe  them?"  I  asked. 

"Nickel-plated,  highly  varnished,  with 
plush  upholstery  and  chenille  trimmings. 
They  luxuriate  best  in  a  ready-made  cozy 
corner,  and  when  they  die  they  will  go  to 
a  celestial  department  store  and  be  forever 
happy." 

And  we  both  laughed  merrily  as  we 
rolled  slowly  into  Mendham  and  stopped 
at  the  familiar  gate. 


VIII 

J(l 

WANTED:  A  SETTEE 

WE  were  sitting  before  the  back  par-  ~o 
lor  fire  one  late  afternoon.     There  II 
had  been  a  pause  in  the  conversation  and  {*}. 
I  broke  it  by  remarking: 

"The  three-year-old  boy  of  a  friend  of 
mine  recently  broke  into  the  family  dinner  Jij 
chat  and   said,  'Let's  talk  about — 'then    « 


he  paused  and  every  one  waited  expectantly, 
'Let  us  talk  about  pussy-cat's  tails.'  So, 
paraphrasing  this  line,  let  us  talk  about 
chandeliers." 

"Why    chandeliers?"    asked    Cynthia, 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

"why  not  peacocks,  or  churns,  or  the  third 
Punic  war,  or  button-holes?" 

"  Because  I  have  just  been  watching  the 
sunlight  dance  about  on  the  prisms  of  that 
old  cut-glass  one,  and  I  think  it  is  the 

most  beautiful  thing  imaginable.     See  the 

L  jl 
reds   and    purples   flickering   about   those  M 

triangular  pendants  and  the  rosy  flush  on 
the    clusters    at   the   top.     They   tremble  *^ 
and  shimmer  like  fragments  of  a  rainbow  $ 

o 

lost  in  a  —  in  a  — " 

"In  a  glacier,"  concluded  Cynthia  for 
me. 

"Yes,  thanks,"  I  said. 

In  the  center  of  the  room  hung  a  superb 
old  cut-glass  chandelier,  like  a  symmetri 
cal,  golden  bough  covered  with  icicles. 
86 


Wanted:  A  Settee 

The  central  tube  was  surrounded  by 
strings  of  brilliants,  curving  slightly  in 
ward  with  their  weight.  The  brilliants 
were  cut  in  the  shape  of  jewels  with  many 
facets,  and  they  varied  in  size  from  half  an 
inch  at  the  top  of  the  string  to  over  an 
inch  at  the  bottom.  From  the  central  rod 
extended  twelve  curving  arms  of  polished 
brass,  ending,  six  of  them,  in  gas-jets  and 
six  in  carved,  crystal  pinnacles.  From 
each  arm  depended  triangular  crystal 
drops,  each  ending  in  a  many-sided  spear- 
point.  Four  circular  gilt  bands  of  varying 
diameter  surrounded  the  base  of  the  central 
rod,  so  that  their  hundreds  of  pendants 
formed  an  inverted  cone,  the  point  of 
which,  at  the  bottom  of  all,  was  a  solid, 
87 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


1 


spherical  crystal  the  size  of  a  pear.  Around 
each  gas-jet  was  a  heavily  cut  globe,  and 
from  the  lower  rims  a  circle  of  pendants 
fell.  Near  the  ceiling  was  another  crown- 
like  circular  band,  from  which  depended 

long,  slender  crystal  drops. 

> 
Altogether  it  was  a  shimmering  mass  of  J 

gold  and  sunlight,  for  the  rays  of  the 
setting  sun,  streaming  recklessly  into  the 
room  through  the  window,  lost  their  way  ,  ;, 
completely  in  its  mazes,  darting  and  wan 
dering  about,  leaping  panic-stricken  from 
crystal  to  crystal,  trying  in  vain  to  get  out 
of  their  fairy-like  prison. 

"The  chandelier,"  I  said  oracularly, 
"is  a  beacon  light  of  the  spirit  of  the 
times.  I  have  looked  in  vain  through  all 


Wanted:  A  Settee 

the  books  on  old  furniture  that  I  have,  to 
find  something  on  chandeliers.  So  I  can't 
toss  off  nuggets  of  wisdom  to  you  as  to  the 
chandeliers  of  colonial  times,  or  of  Louis 

cent,  out  i  imagine  tnose  gentlemen  aian  t     £ 
have  gas  or  electricity.     This  cold,  unro- 
mantic  electricity,  with  its  fierce  unflick-    r 

Bering  glare,  is  in  keeping  with  these  tense,  " 
business-like  times.     Imagine  a  poet  in  his 
tower  composing  odes  by  the  light  turned 

»on  with  a  push  button!     And  these  mod-  ^ 
ern,  metallic,  highly  wrought  fixtures  are  ^ 
quite  as  unromantic  as  the  light  they  sup 
port.     Gas   was   almost   as  bad,   and   its 
accompanying    bronze  and    brass  abomi 
nations  with   their  spirals    and    stamped 


Face  in  the  Girandole 


, 


• 


patterns  were  even  worse.  How  much  sim 
pler  and  more  beautiful  were  the  candle- 
lighted  rooms  of  colonial  days,  with  the 
tapering  yellow  flames  reflected  softly  on 
polished  floors,  stately  mirrors,  and  shining 
mahogany.  No  wonder  men  were  gallant 
and  courtly  and  ladies  winsome.  By 
candle-light,  it  would  seem  in  keeping  for 
a  man  to  bend  low  over  his  lady's  hand 
and  kiss  her  fingers  in  saying  adieu.  By 
electric  light  he  would  be  more  apt  to 
say,  "See  you  later!"  without  so  much  as 
a  nod.  Gas  and  electricity  are  cold,  hard, 
relentless.  Candle-light  is  full  of  illu 
sions." 

"And    firelight?"    asked    Cynthia.     It 
had    grown    dark    outside.     The    captive 
90 


Wanted:  A  Settee 


sunbeams  had  languished  and  died  in 
prison  and  a  soft,  rosy  glow  came  from 
the  fireplace,  lighting  up  Cynthia's  face 
and  glinting  in  her  hair.  She  wore  a 
soft  gray  gown  of  silk  crepe  and  —  oh 
well,  it  was  just  —  a  pretty  dress,  that's 
all. 

"Firelight,"  I  mused,  "is  the  light  of 
love.  It  is  the  light  of  the  home,  the 
fireside.  I  should  like  to  ask  the  girl  I 
loved  to  marry  me,  sitting  beside  her  on 
a  great,  high-back  settee  before  a  fireplace 
with  hickory  logs  —  like  those  —  crack- 
ling  and  glowing  before  me.  I  should  like 
to  tell  her  how  once  my  great-grandfather 
sat  thus  upon  a  settee  beside  a  young 
Puritan  girl,  after  he  had  tramped  ten  0* 

91 

4 


The  Face  in  the   Girandole 


•CVJ' 

1 


miles,  musket  in  hand,  across  the  snowy 
forests.  The  storm  raged  outside  and 
soon  he  would  have  to  go  out  into  it 
again.  But  for  that  hour  they  two  sat 
sweetly  side  by  side  on  the  settee,  and  he 
took  her  hand  and  told  her  how  he  loved 
her,  how  he  had  crept  through  scattered 
groups  of  hostile  redcoats  to  tell  her  so. 
He  asked  her  to  marry  him,  simply  and 
bravely  as  a  man  should,  and  he  knelt  and 
kissed  her  hand,  when  she  said  she  would, 
before  he  rose  and  took  her  to  his  heart. 
Then  she  helped  him  on  with  his  coat  and 
leather  gaiters  and  promised  to  be  brave 
and  wait  for  him,  and  he  went  out  into  the 
night  and  she  had  no  word  of  him  for 
months." 

92 


Wanted:  A  Settee 

"And  then?"  asked  Cynthia,  softly. 

"Then  he  came  back,  in  the  leafy 
spring,  with  a  wounded  arm  and  a  com 
mission  from  General  Washington,  and 
he  married  her  in  the  village  church  and 
took  her  behind  him  on  horseback  to  her 
new  home." 

Cynthia    was    sitting   in    a    low    rocker 
"1    leaning  slightly  forward,   looking  eagerly 
at  me  as  I  talked.     The  fireglow  was  in 
her  eyes   and   on   her  cheek.     The   room 
seemed  very  still  and  peaceful. 

I  looked  around  wistfully. 

"Is  there  —  is  there  a  settee  handy?" 
I  asked. 

Cynthia  started  and  the  fireglow  deep 
ened  on  her  face. 

93 


1 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

"  Light  up  the  chandelier,"  she  replied, 
"  and  we  will  see  if  it  belongs  to  this  era 
or  not." 

Soon  the  sparkling  lights  were  dancing 
again  in  the  shining  maze,  ghosts,  perhaps, 
of  the  dead  sunbeams,  but  not  pale  nor 
mournful  ones. 

"After  all,"  mused  Cynthia,  "gas  ij 
rather  pretty,  isn't  it,  even  if  it  is  modern  ! 
I  am  afraid  I  am  rather  modern  at  heart 
in  spite  of  my  bringing  up.  Candle-light 
is  picturesque  but  electricity  is  so  conven 
ient  !  I  love  the  old  furniture,  of  course, 
and  yet  I  think  modern  ways  are  'way 
ahead  of  old  ones.  I  shouldn't  like  to 
have  been  my  grandmother  who,  as  a 
young  girl,  made  samplers  and  did  mar- 
94 


Wanted:  A  Settee 

velous  needlework,  and  who  wore  a  cap 
at  thirty.  I  am  not  an  embroidery-and- 
rocking-chair  girl  at  all,  and  I  think  the 
dear  old  lady  would  be  shocked  to  see  me 
doing  my  eighteen  holes  and  not  minding 
a  sunburned  nose.  Yet  with  all  their 
gentleness  they  had  spirit,  those  New 
England  grandmothers  of  ours.  They 
could  take  terrible  journeys  on  horseback 
and  load  the  guns  against  the  Indians  when 
it  was  necessary!  Perhaps  their  delicacy 
was  only  a  cult  after  all,  just  as  is  our 
modern  athleticism.  Womankind  and 
womanhood  do  not  change  much  in  a 
race,  I  imagine;  it  is  only  circumstances 
and  conditions.  And  the  same  with  men. 
I  can  imagine  you  in  a  continental  uni- 
95 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

form  quite  well!  And  because  I  love  the 
excitement  of  a  motor  spin  and  can  handle 
a  twenty-foot  catboat,  it  doesn't  mean 
that  I  am  essentially  different  from  my 
grandmother." 

"There  is  much  wisdom  in  what  you 
say,"  I  pronounced  judicially.     "In  fact 
-  in   fact  —  are  you   sure  there   isn't   a 
settee  handy?" 


IX 


THE    FACE    IN   THE    GIRANDOLE 

OVER   the   mantelpiece   in   the   back 
parlor  of  the   Mendham   house,  to 
which  I  was  now  a  frequent  visitor,  was 
an  immense  girandole  which   I  had  long     c 
coveted.     The  circular  mirror  in  the  center  J^ 

»e> 
was  perhaps  two  feet  and  a  half  in  diam-     ijl 
'A}j 

eter  and  of  brilliant  quality,  slightly  con- 
Vex  and  reflecting  the  face  of  one  standing     ^ 
in  front  of  it  without  contorting  it.     Sur-    ,.'••• 
rounding  the  glass  was  a  massive  carved 
frame  representing  two  inverted  cornuco 
pias,  pouring  out  their  fruit  to  form  the 
97 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

base.  At  the  top,  spreading  its  wings 
boldly  between  the  tapering  ends  of  the 
cornucopias  which  curved  upward  as  grace 
fully  as  conventionalized  dolphins,  was  a 
huge  eagle.  The  entire  frame  was  gilded 
and  was  in  the  style  of  Chippendale,  but  it 
was  probably  made  a  little  after  his  time,— 
perhaps  1780.  These  girandoles  were  owned 
by  wealthy  families  both  in  New  England 
and  in  the  South  during  our  late  colonial 
period,  and  though  I  had  seen  several  of 
them,  none  could  be  compared  to  this. 
I  wanted  it  for  a  particular  place  in  my 
living-room,  and  though  Cynthia's  aunt 
and  I  had  not  quite  met  as  to  terms,  she 
had  named  her  maximum  and  I  knew  that, 
in  the  end,  I  would  accept  them. 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

She  had  one  or  two  other  good  mirrors 
which  I  coveted  too.  One  of  them  was 
made  evidently  in  America  after  the  Revo 
lution,  a  style  called  "Constitution  mir 
ror,"  and  sold  extensively  throughout  the 
country  because  it  had  an  eagle  surrmount- 
ing  it.  Otherwise  the  style  followed  ac 
cepted  English  designs.  This  one  had  on 
the  back,  "Made  by  Bartholomew  Plain, 
Chatham  Street,  New  York,"  a  worthy 
who  flourished  around  1810.  The  frame 
was  of  mahogany,  with  a  straight,  cornice 
top,  surmounted  by  two  upward  arching, 
wing-like  ornaments,  between  which 
perched  the  eagle,  made  of  plaster  and 
gilded.  Down  each  side  of  the  glass  fell 
a  delicate  garland  of  gilded  leaves,  and  the 
99 


1 


1 


i 
i 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

fluted  bottom  rested  upon  two  large  glass 
rosettes  on  the  end  of  wooden  pegs  driven 

into    the    wall.     This    rest    allowed    the 

. 
•4/i*  mirror  to  pitch  forward  slightly.     At  about 

the  time  of  the  making  of  this  mirror  there 

A^  was  a  fancy  for  reproducing  the  style  of 
the  Queen  Anne  ones  of  1730,  except  for 
ft  the  "Constitution"  detail.     This  is  rather 
a  curious  element  in  the  history  of  furni- 
. .....;.  ture-making,  as  the   Queen   Anne   styles, 

A  after  the  Revolution,  were  ignored  in  other 
A   respects. 

Cynthia's  aunt  —  I  had  come  to  regard 

A 

everything  in  the  Mendham  house  merely 
in  their  relationships  to  Cynthia  —  would, 
of  course,  part  with  only  such  articles  of 
*    furniture  as  she  did  not  have  room  for, 
100 


I  regarded  it  long  and  meditatively      (Page  121) 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


the  recent  legacy  of  old  pieces  somewhat 
embarrassing  her  with  riches,  and  it  would 
be  an  impertinence  on  my  part  if  I  should  ,. 
suggest  her  selling  any  which  she  did  not  j: 
herself  offer.     Her    house  was   not  espe-  * 
cially  large  and  she  only  wanted  to  sell  the 
pieces  which  over-filled  it.     And  this  mir 
ror  and  the  girandole  were  the  last  things  A 
she  would   let  go.     Hence,   if  I   were  to«^ 
visit  the  house  any  more  it  would  not  be 

J  <A& 

on  the  pretext  of  business.     Fortunately,   * 

however,   I  had   already  reached   a   stage *T* 

. 
where  it  was  not  necessary  to  excuse  my  ^ 

visits  on   that   plea.     My  own   aunt  had 


become  somewhat  alarmed  at  first  when  vj 
I  kept  buying  so  many  pieces  from  the  ^ 
place,  fearing  my  enthusiasm  for  antiques 


101 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


was  rather  running  away  with  me,  but 
after  she  had  come  to  know  Cynthia  a 
little  she  seemed  to  regard  my  successive 
purchases  with  complete  equanimity.  In 
fact  she  seemed  especially  pleased  for 
some  reason  or  another  over  the  appear 
ance  in  my  home  of  one  or  two  things 
which  I  had  absolutely  no  use  for.  During 
the  early  spring  days  my  trusty  car  seemed 
to  turn  naturally  toward  Mendham,  and 
my  thoughts  were  pleasant  as  one  after 
noon,  having  come  out  early  from  town, 
I  put  on  full  speed  and  whizzed  into 
Bernardsville  at  a  startling  pace.  Three 
miles  away  lay  Mendham,  its  white  church 
steeple  rising  above  the  green  meadows. 
Soon  I  was  rolling  down  its  shaded  street 
1 02 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

and  drew  up  before  the  sweet  old  stone 
house  with  its  columned  doorway  and 
garden  path  leading  up  from  the  gate. 

The  maid  announced  that  Miss  Grey- 
lock  senior  was  ill  but  that  Miss  Cynthia 
was  in.  I  sent  up  my  card  to  Miss 
Cynthia  forthwith,  deposited  my  furs, 
goggles,  and  other  disguises  upon  a  mas 
sive  hall  seat,  and  ensconced  myself  by 
the  back  parlor  fireplace.  Cynthia  ap 
peared  presently.  I  always  like  girls  who 
don't  keep  a  fellow  waiting.  While  you 
are  waiting  ten  or  fifteen  minutes  for  one 
to  come  down,  especially  if  the  delay 
usually  occurs,  you  can't  help  imagining 
her  unrolling  her  tresses  from  curl  papers 
and  changing  from  a  wrapper  to  a  dress. 
103 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


Cynthia  never  kept  people  waiting,  and 
her  gowns,  while  charming,  had  the 
"homey"  and  not  the  "company"  atmos 
phere. 

Her  aunt,  she  told  me,  had  not  latterly 

t 

been  in  good   health   and   she  felt  rather 
alarmed  about  her  at  times.     "The  other 
day,"  she  said,  "my  aunt  sat  here  before 
the  fire  and  spoke  so  sweetly  of  the  old 
4l>house  which  had  always  been  her  home, 
i   She   said   that   to   her   it   was   so   closely 
1  associated  with  the  past  that  she  felt  that, 

1 1L 

%  although  she  had  spent  her  lifetime  in  it, 
•**  she  was  but  a  temporary  occupant.  'We 
Jy^come  into  the  world,'  she  mused,  'and 

a 

claim  a  few  of  its  belongings  for  a  time 
*   and   imagine   that  we   possess   them,  and 
104 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

then   pass  away  to  give  place  to  others, 
who,    in    their    turn,    imagine    the    same   ) 
proprietorship.     Outside,  in  the  fields,  the    A 
crops   are   sown  and   reaped   and,  as   the  Jyj> 
seasons  come  and  go,  they  rise  and  fall,    jjl 
and  each,  perhaps,  imagines  the  fields  are    ^ 
theirs  for  their  brief  season,  and  only  the 
Reaper  knows  how  fleeting  is  their  stay.    ft 
So,  here,  inside  the  house,  dear  old  "Grey-  "^ 
stone,"  a  new  portrait  appears  from  time  Jj^ 
to  time,  a  few  books,  a  kid  slipper,  a  bit 
of  lace,  are  treasured,  a   package  of  old 
.letters   is   burned   and    a   new   generation 
takes  possession.     And   I  am  the  last  in 
the  direct  line,'  she  ended." 

"That  is  a  veritable  little  prose-poem," 
I    said    soberly,    and   we   were   silent    for 
105 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

awhile.  Then,  gradually,  as  the  flames 
leaped  up  merrily  in  the  fireplace,  our  talk 
shifted  to  less  pensive  themes.  We  dis 
cussed  the  merits  of  old  fireplaces  and  of 
toasted  marshmallows,  skating,  Bernard 
Shaw,  Alpine  travel,  garden-making,  how 
to  mix  a  salad  dressing,  Dutch  art,  golf, 
precious  stones  in  finger  rings,  —  illus 
trated  with  some  she  wore,  —  her  hair, 
my  motor,  and  Bridge.  I  told  her  how 
I  had  planned  to  arrange  my  flower 
garden  and  she  gave  me  some  excellent 
hints  and  promised  to  send  me  some  hardy 
roots  from  her  own  garden  when  she 
returned.  She  related  some  of  the  hu 
morous  phases  of  social  life  in  ancestral 
Salem  and  dwelt  lovingly  on  its  aristo- 
106 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

cratic  charm  and  simplicity,  and  we  com 
pared  notes  as  to  our  respective  country 
clubs. 

The  shadows  lengthened  unnoticed.  We 
drew  imaginary  pictures  of  some  of  the 
scenes  which  might  have  been  reflected  in 
the  glass  of  the  girandole  above  us  —  the 
room  when  it  was  new,  long  before  Cyn 
thia's  aunt  was  born,  her  grandparents 
furnishing  it  with  those  dearly  bought 
pieces  brought  over  from  England;  the 
mistress  of  the  house  spinning  and  per 
haps,  with  the  hand  loom  now  stored 
away  in  the  attic,  weaving  the  family  linen; 
the  master,  a  minute-man  in  the  Conti 
nental  army,  faring  forth  to  join  the  troops 
of  Washington  in  his  "  masterly  operations 
107 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


in  the  Jersies,"  and  perhaps  seeing  him 
from  time  to  time  when  he  resided  in  his 
beautiful  headquarters  at  Morristown  so 
{,  near  by. 

Then  came  the  triumphant  return  after 
the  war  —  for  he  did  return,  this  patriotic 
Greylock  ancestor,  and  the  quaint  gather 
ings  of  young  people  in  the  picturesque 
costumes  of  the    day,  the   sewing-circles, 
I   singing-classes,  perhaps  a  modest   dance, 
ft   and    surely    many    a    little    flirtation   be- 
j-T  fore  this  very  fireplace,  for  the  portraits 
JOLof  the  women  above  us  showed  them  to 
be  beautiful.     The  world  outside  changed, 
jft   woods   disappeared,   and    the   farms    and 
gardens   sprang  up;  the  great  city,   once 
such    a    journey    away,    now   was    linked 
108 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

closely  to  the  little  village;  people,  cos 
tumes,  occupations,  and  ideas  altered,  but 
the  quiet  room  remained  always  the  same 
and  the  mirror  looked  reflectively  down 
upon  its  constancy.  Did  it  look  into  our 
souls,  Cynthia  mused,  as  we  did  into  its 
own  ?  Did  it  register  in  its  mysterious 
depths  the  hopes  and  fears,  the  loves, 
passions,  and  emotions  of  the  people  who 
lived  their  home  lives  just  below  it  ?  And 
where  now  were  all  the  pictures  caught 
fleetingly  upon  its  surface  ?  Gone  with 
the  faces  and  scenes  of  other  days,  and  it 
seemed  to  smile  down  upon  us  two  to-day, 
giving  no  hint  of  its  buried  mysteries. 

We  stood  in  front  of  the  girandole  in 
the  gathering  twilight,  the  two  cornucopias 
109 


i 


- 


o 
II 

I 
i 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

pouring  out  their  golden  harvest  on  each 
side  of  the  great  round  mirror.  Cynthia 
struck  a  match  and  lighted  the  wax 
candles  held  by  their  graceful  spiral 
brackets.  I  saw,  reflected  in  the  myste 
rious  depth  of  the  ancient  glass,  the  quaint 
room  behind  us  and,  in  the  center,  the 
face  of  Cynthia. 

"  Beautiful,"  I  murmured  softly. 

"  Isn't  it  ? "  she  replied,  referring  to  the 
girandole.  "Horns  of  plenty  they  must 
have  had  in  the  days  when  those  were 
made.  Are  you  really  going  to  take  it?" 

Her  hand  hung  close  by  mine,  at  her 
side.  Mine  seemed  to  move  without  con 
scious  effort  on  my  part. 

"Look,"  I  said,  "do  you  not  see  why 
no 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

it  is  so  beautiful  to  me?"  and  I  gently 
drew  her  face  closer  to  it  so  that  it  shone 
radiantly  from  the  center  of  the  glass. 
"How  empty  it  would  be  without  that 
reflection!  I  should  hate  it,  without  your 
face  to  be  seen  in  it.  May  I  have  it,  - 
just  as  it  is  now  ? 

The  shadows  lengthened  unnoticed,  and 
it  was  quite  dark  before  I  took  my  depar 
ture.  And  as  I  drove  home,  over  the 
smiling  Jersey  hills,  I  thanked  my  aunt 
from  the  bottom  of  my  heart  for  interesting 
me  in  old  furniture.  The  girandole  — 
and  its  reflection  —  were  mine. 


in 


X 


THE    LEGACY   OF    PLYMOUTH 

IT  was  just  after  the  winter's  last  snow 
storm  that  Cynthia  and  I  took  a  long 
walk   through   the  woods   one   afternoon.     • 
Sometimes,  here  in  the  New  Jersey  hills, 
the    snow    comes    down    in    little    round,  /!j' 
downy   balls  which   do  not,   for  a   time,   ; 
pack  together,   and   one   may  thrust   his  ^ 
fingers   down   several   inches   and    find   it  M> 

•  -A 

light  and  dry  like  cotton-wool.  After  it 
has  remained  a  few  days  the  noonday 
sunshine  and  the  nightly  freezings  harden 
it  and  transform  its  surface  into  great 

112 


I 


The  Legacy  of  Plymouth 

crystals,  all  standing  on  end.  It  is  as  if 
a  myriad  sparkling  white  moths  had 
alighted  and  covered  the  earth,  —  moths 
whose  fragile  wings  had  just  ceased  to 
flutter  but  were  still  poised  in  the  air.  In 
an  instant,  it  seems,  they  must  be  folded, 
unless  a  breath  should  startle  them  away. 
To-day,  however,  it  was  warmer  and 
the  snow  clung  to  every  twig,  the  forests 
were  covered  with  a  heavy  rime  that 
transformed  the  rounded  clumps  of  ever 
greens  into  masses  of  spidery  lace.  Where, 
on  the  steep  hillsides,  the  earth  had  fallen 
away  from  under  the  roots  of  the  trees, 
the  thick  moss  peered  out  beneath  them, 
green  and  fresh  against  the  black  earth 
and  the  snow,  and  over  the  hollows  in  the 
"3 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


^~ 


rocky  banks  of  the  stream,  that  had  hushed 
its  brawlings,  hung  long,  slender  icicles, 
strings  of  the  ice-wizard's  harp  taming  the 
murmur  of  the  winter  wind  into  music  which 
we  could  not  hear.  The  great  branches  of 
the  pines  and  spruces  hung  low  with  the 
heavy  snow,  graceful  as  white  ostrich  plumes. 

"Some  one  has  written,"  said  Cynthia, 
"that  if  our  ears  could  hear  well  enough, 
we  should  go  mad  with  the  music  of  the 
sunshine.  I  am  sure  a  snow-storm  is  a 
silent,  celestial  oratorio." 

"If  you  sprinkle  grains  of  fine  sand  on 
a  thin  metal  plate,"  I  replied,  "they  will 
form  themselves  into  geometrical  patterns 
to  the  notes  of  a  violin.  For  each  note 
there  is  a  different  pattern." 
114 


o 

A 


J 


The  Legacy  of  Plymouth 


i 
1 


"Oh!"  she  cried,  "then  the  snowflakes, 
with  their  many  patterns,  correspond  to 
musical  notes.  Some  divine  Music-Master 
has  created  them  and  they  fall  in  a  sym 
phony  which  we  cannot  hear!" 

"  I  wonder  if  the  soldiers  of  Washington 
thought  them  fugues  when  they  tramped, 
cold  and  tired,  through  these  hills,"  I 
mused.  "Somehow  my  new  love  for  old 
furniture  has  made  me  think  a  good  deal 
of  our  sturdy  ancestors.  I  believe  that  is 
the  thing  which  influenced  me  to  join  the 
Society  of  Colonial  Wars.  Unfortunately, 
most  of  our  family  heirlooms,  furniture 
especially,  was  destroyed  in  the  great 
Portland  fire  years  ago.  My  grandfather 
was  a  supreme  court  judge  and  was  giving 
"5 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


n 

a  dinner  the  night  it  occurred.  He  and 
his  wife  and  their  guests  stepped  to  the 
door  to  see  what  the  noise  was  about  and 
never  returned  to  the  house.  They  were 
forced  to  run  to  safety  at  once,  leaving 
everything  behind  them." 

"What  a  tragedy!"  gasped  Cynthia. 
"I    like   to   think   of  our   sturdy   New 
England  ancestors,"  I  continued.     "When 

,•  I  was  living  in  England  one  winter,  I  used 

to  wonder  why  I  could  not  take  sport  as 

seriously  as  did  some  of  my  English  friends. 

'  Sport  to  them  was  something  almost  sacred 

.   in    its    dignity,  —  a    serious    occupation. 
With  me  it  was  only  to  be  regarded  as  a 

»  relaxation.     It  is  because  their  inheritances 

are  different  from  ours.     They  are  descen- 

116 


The  Legacy  of  Plymouth 

dents  of  generations  of  gentlemen  of  leis 
ure,  —  knights  at  arms,  feudal  barons,  and 
roving  soldiers  of  fortune,  we  from  Puritans    i 
and  devout  Huguenots.     While  their  an 
cestors  hunted  the  wild   boar,  ours  were 

/IR 

hewing    the    forests    and    planting    their  v 
simple    homes    and    meeting-houses    in    all 
new  and  hard-won  world.     I  do  not  think 

H I 

that  this  great  wealth  which  has  so  sud-  4A 
denly    come    to    some    Americans    rests 
gracefully  with  all  of  them  because  of  this 
very  legacy  of  Plymouth  to  which  they  are 
heir." 

"After   all,"   said   Cynthia,   "what   life 

could  be  sweeter  than  my  aunt's,  who  has 

.  4S> 

lived  serenely  there,  all  her  years,  in  dear 

old  Greystone." 

117  4t 

4 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


A  little  later,  a  merry  little  group  of 
four  gathered  about  the  mahogany  table 
in  the  Mendham  home.  My  aunt  had 
come  up  by  train  to  Bernardsville  and  had 
driven  over  in  a  cab,  and  I  was  to  take 
her  home  in  my  motor.  I  raised  my  glass 
to  Miss  Greylock  senior. 

"To  the  house  of  inherited  old  furni 
ture,"  I  toasted,  "and  good  wishes  from 
one  who,  in  collecting  it,  has  found  a  prize 
dearer  than  his  hopes!"  And  Cynthia 
smiled  at  me  across  the  cut-glass. 

"You  should  toast  me  too,"  said  my 
aunt,  "since  it  was  I  who  started  you  on 
your  quest.  You  have  made  a  fine  success 
of  your  collecting,  and  your  Prize  makes 
up  for  the  fact  that,  after  all,  your  furni- 
118 


, 


^AM' 

1 
I 


1 
1 
i 


The  Legacy  of  Plymouth 

ture  once  belonged  to  other  people's  ances 
tors.  You  and  I  haven't  the  satisfaction 
of  feeling  that  ours  are  family  pieces,  a  sat 
isfaction  which  Miss  Greylock  must  have." 
And  she  glanced  admiringly  about  her. 

"Some  people,"  said  Miss  Greylock, 
"say  that  if  they  haven't  old  furniture  of 
their  own  they  would  rather  have  new 
than  old,  that  they  prefer  clean  and  mod 
ern  pieces,  but  I  think  old  furniture  is  old 
furniture  and  that  your  way  is  far  better. 
Each  to  his  taste,  however,  but  I  believe 
that  if  you  did  not  have  an  appreciation 
of  it  inborn,  you  would  not  care  for  it  so 
much." 

Cynthia    and    I    looked    at    each    other 

suddenly. 

119 


• 


: 


1 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

"Furniturosophy!"  we  exclaimed,  simul-     :. 
taneously  and  laughed. 

Then  we  had  to  explain  to  the  others 
our  whimsical  theory  of  character-reading, 
and  all  too  soon  it  was  time  for  my  aunt 
and  me  to  take  our  departure. 


XI 


THE  HOUSE  THAT  CHANGED  ITS 
GENDER 

I  STOOD  under  the  oak-pinned,  thatch- 
roof  litch  gate  in  front  of  my  house 
and  regarded  it  long  and  meditatively.  I 
had  a  problem  to  solve.  Slowly  and 
painstakingly  I  had  perfected  a  thorough 
bachelor's  establishment.  It  was,  I  prided 
myself,  artistic  but  essentially  masculine 
in  character,  especially  inside,  in  its  scheme 
of  decoration.  The  flower  garden  in  front 
was  possibly  suggestive  of  woman's  tastes, 
but  why  should  not  a  man  love  flowers  ? 
121 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


And  if  he  loved  flowers,  why  should  he  not 
have  a  flower  garden  ?  Otherwise,  how 
ever,  the  place  was  essentially  masculine, 
and  now,  wonder  of  wonders!  the  face  of 
the  world  had  so  changed  its  aspect  that 
it  was  necessary  to  revolutionize  matters 
after  the  master  bargain  of  the  girandole 
had  been  made  —  the  greatest  bargain  in 
the  world.  "Heart's  Ease,"  the  name  I 
had  chosen,  in  my  bachelor  self-sufficiency, 
was  to  become  "Heart's  Desire,"  and 
when  Cynthia  should  come  to  it  as  its 
charming  mistress  it  must  be  in  fitting 
guise. 

It  was  early  spring  and  the  rose  trees 
in  the  tiny  formal  garden  in  front  of  me 
had  emerged  from  their  straw  wrappings 
122 


The  House  that  Changed  Its  Gender 


I 
1 
4 


and  were  unfurling  delicate  green  leaves.  ^ 
From  the  litch  gate  which  stood  at  the  II 
foot  of  the  terrace,  half-way  up  the  drive- 

••  way  which  led  from  the  street  to  the  side 
entrance  of  the  house,  extended  a  gravel 
path  along  the  foot  of  the  grass  terrace  to 
a  point  in  front  of  the  front  door.     Thence, 
at  right  angles  to  it,  rose  three  stone  steps    u 
to  the  top  of  the  terrace,  on  which  spread    2, 
out  in  conventional  beds,  marked  off  by  Ji]\y 
narrow   gravel   paths,   the   flower   garden, 
bounded  on  one  side  by  the  heavy  wooden 

'  balustrade,  running  along  the  top  of  the 
terrace,  on  the  other  by  the  porch,  and 
on  each  end  by  low  barberry  hedges.  In 
the  center  was  the  sun-dial. 

In  front  of  the  porch,  which  extended 
123 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


across  the  entire  front  of  the  house,  was 
a  flower  bed,  in  which,  during  the  summer 
weeks,  bloomed  tall  Hollyhocks  and  Phlox, 
which  rose  close  to  the  porch.  In  front 
of  them,  a  little  lower  in  stature,  were 
Sweet  Williams,  Foxglove,  Coryopsis,  and 
Peonies.  In  the  foremost  rank  were  the 
low-growing  Sweet  Violets,  Jonquils, 

P  Hardy  Pinks,  and  Colombine  —  a  veri 
table  grand  stand,  with  tier  upon  tier  of 
rosy  flower  faces  nodding  together  and 
watching  the  games  going  on  between 
bees,  butterflies,  and  blossoms  in  the  gar 
den  in  front  of  them  during  the  long 
,  summer  days.  In  the  prim  little  box- 
bordered  beds  before  them  were  such 
bright  annuals  and  perennials  as  Petunias, 
124 


.   , 


The  House  that  Changed  Its  Gender 


1 


i 


i 


Canterbury-bells,  Veronica,  Lychnis,  Yel 
low  Alyssum,  and  Ageratum.  Through 
the  center  of  the  garden,  bordering  the 
path  leading  from  the  porch  steps  to  the 
terrace,  were  stately  rose  trees  with  a 
border  of  Iris  and  Lilies  in  front  of  them. 

The  gray  cement  walls  of  the  house 
rose  to  a  terra-cotta  roof  and  the  porch 
floor  was  of  large,  square  tiles  also  of 
terra-cotta.  The  smaller  windows  on  the 
second  story  were  casement  and  of  small, 
diamond-shaped  panes  of  irregular  shape, 
so  that  the  leaded  sash  did  not  run  slant 
wise  up  and  down  in  stiff,  unbroken  lines. 

Outwardly  the  place  was  well  enough 
as  it  was,  but  how  should  the  interior  of 
the  house  be  made  harmonious  to  the  new 


^ 

The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

order  of  things  ?     The  femininizing  of  a  % 

bachelor  establishment  was   the   problem 

r 

which    confronted    me    as    I    stood    there 

. 
under    the    litch    gate    that    gentle    April    - 

morning. 

The  entrance    hall  was  wainscoted    in    ? 
oak,  and  above  the  wainscot  was  a  great 
moose  head  and  several  of  deer  with  wide-  |ft 
spread  antlers.     These  could  undoubtedly 
remain   after  they  had   been   bereft  of  a  J 
motley  collection  of  riding  crops,  cartridge 
belts  and  spurs.    So,  too,  could  the  straight-    A 
back,  heavily  carved  Jacobean  chairs.  The 
dining-room   had  a  high  cherry  wainscot, 
stained  mahogany,  and  on  the  shelf  at  its 
top  were  steins,  golf  and  tennis  cups,  and 
college  trophies.     These  latter  could  easily 
126 


The  House  that  Changed  Its  Gender 

be  relegated  to  a  den  which  I  should  have 
somewhere  up-stairs.  Ah!  An  idea!  Re 
move  the  billiard-table  from  the  south 
front  room  on  the  second  floor  to  one  of 
the  unused  rooms  on  the  third  story,  con 
vert  the  present  billiard-room,  with  its 
alcove  overlooking  the  rose  garden,  into 
Cynthia's  bedroom,  and  put  my  trophies, 
steins,  and  riding  crops  into  the  new  one! 
Finish  the  billiard-room  in  soft,  gray 
fumed  oak,  and  have  fumed  oak  furniture! 
On  the  main  floor,  at  the  right  of  the  hall, 
was  my  lounge  or  living  room,  on  the  left 
the  library.  The  former  must,  of  course, 
be  converted  into  a  drawing-room.  The 
latter  could  remain  somewhat  as  it  was. 
So,  after  this  admirable  plan  of  cam- 
127 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

paign  was  arranged  in  my  mind,  I  betook  vlL 
myself  to  the  local  decorator's  shop  and, 
during  the  spring  days,  as  the  flowers  came    « 
forth  in  my  garden,  an  equally  successful 
unfolding  of  grace  took  place  inside  the 
house.     I    had    purposely   refrained    from  A^ 
telling  Cynthia  the  details  as  I  wanted  to 
surprise  her  when  she  first  saw  the  place,  * 

but  my  aunt  was  a  tower  of  strength  and «,  ^ 

•  •  •  n 

came  up  daily  to  advise  and  superintend. 

My  living-room  with  its    lounging  chairs, 


pipe-racks,  and  burlap-covered  walls  be 
came  a  dainty  salon  with  white  enamel 
woodwork  and  light  paneled  walls.  The 

i 

library  remained,  in  the  main,  as  it  was, 

and  it  was  surprising  how  a  few  touches 

changed  the  gender  of  the  bachelor's  home 

128 


The  House  that  Changed  Its  Gender 


into  one  suitable  for  the  reception  of  a 
bride. 

i  During  those  spring  days,  too,  great 
changes  occurred  in  Mendham.  Cynthia's 
aunt  died  and,  as  the  old  lady  had  no 

J  immediate  family,  the  house  was  closed, 
the  valuables   stored,   the  furniture   care- 

A 

fully  covered,  and  Cynthia  returned  to  her 

home    in    Salem.     Curiously    enough,    no 

will  was  found  and  all  arrangements  as  to 

the    disposal    of    Miss    Greylock's    small 

v  estate  were  postponed,  as  she  had  a  ne'er- 

JQL 

p?"  do-well  brother,  possibly  still  alive,  some- 
•   where  in  the  West. 

April  showers  brought  May  flowers,  and, 
A  as  the  first  days  of  June  were  born,  the 
fi  finishing  touches  were  put  on  all  my 


preparations.  The  last  touch  to  my  re 
arranged  house  I  did  myself.  That  was 
to  hang  over  the  fireplace  in  the  dining- 
room  the  girandole,  which,  after  perhaps 
a  century  of  familiar  scenes,  now  looked 
down  for  the  first  time  upon  new  sur 
roundings.  It  had  been  freshly  gilded, 
and  as  I  stood  before  it,  peering  into  its 
mysterious  depths,  with  all  their  buried 
memories,  I  said  to  it  softly  and  affec 
tionately: 

"You  are  beautiful,  dear  old  glass,  but 
your  heart  is  empty  for  the  old  loves. 
Never  mind,  soon  the  new  Love  will  be 
here  and  her  face  will  shine  once  more, 
in  reflection,  from  your  depths." 


i 


i 


WEDDING    BELLS    IN    SALEM   TOWN 


1 


.. 


IN  June,  the  month  of  roses  and  wed 
dings,  I  made  the  second  happiest 
motor  trip  of  my  life.  The  happiest 
occurred  a  fortnight  later.  I  went  to 
Salem  to  marry  Cynthia  and  bring  her 
back  to  "the  house  that  changed  its  gen 
der."  When  I  had  told  her  my  vainglo 
rious  bachelor  name  for  it,  "Heart's 
Desire,"  she  said: 

"Why  don't  you  give  it  some  old  furni 
ture  name  ?  Combine  Hepplewhite  and 
Chippendale  and  call  it  'Heppeldale,' 


i 

i 


• 

u 

: 

. 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


which  really  wouldn't  have  been  a  bad 
name. 

The  trip  was  a  happy  one  because  so 
of  anticipations.     As  I  sped  eastward, 

I  went  back,  in  reverie,  over  the  various 
*\F* 
'    episodes  in  my  old  furniture  collecting,  — 

•  the    eager-faced    little    man    in    the    Old 
Curiosity    Shop,    the    emporium    of   Old 

A  Pierre  and  Young  Pierre,  the  discovery  of 
"Greystone  "  and  the  fateful  events  which 
followed,  and  lastly,  I  summarized  in  my 
mind  the  anatomy  of  old  furniture  history. 
This  is  the  way  it  took  concrete  form. 

With  memories  of  the  Field  of  the  Cloth 
of  Gold  fresh  in  his  impressionable  mind, 
Henry  VIII,  on   his   return   to   England, 
was    inspired    to    introduce    some   of  the 
132 


^s\f** 

i 


— 

1 
ft. 

J^ 

i 

4 


Wedding  Bells  in  Salem  Town 

magnificence  of  the  French  Court.  Archi 
tecture  wakened  to  new  life  and  the  en 
suing  "Tudor,"  or  "English  Rennais- 
sance"  period  of  furniture-making  was 
merely  a  commingling  of  French,  Italian, 
and  Flemish  styles.  The  "linen  fold" 
motive  in  wood  paneling  was  a  detail. 
Following  this  came  the  "Elizabethan" 
styles,  showing  more  unity  in  design,  and  «AJS 
the  "Jacobean,"  with  carved  walnut  fur- jjl 
niture,  veneer,  marquetry,  spiral-leg  tables, 
dog-tooth  borders,  and  spindle  ornaments.  AL 

With  William  of  Orange,  in  the  latter  part  JjL 

g 

of  the  seventeenth  century,  came  the  turn-  Jhl 
ing-point  in  English  furniture-making  and 
the  Dutch  simplicity  came  in.     The  cab 
riole  leg  was  the  notable  feature  of  it. 


'33 


Face  in  the  Girandole 


The  earlier  Italian,  Dutch,  and  English 
furniture  was,  for  the  most  part,  massive 
and  heavily  carved,  this  style'  culminating 
in  the  "golden  age"  of  furniture  in  Eng 
land  in  the  seventeenth  century.  With  the 
opening  of  the  eighteenth,  this  fashion 
began  to  decline  and  the  more  graceful, 
delicate,  cabriole  or  bandy-leg  furniture 
began  to  be  developed.  Chests  of 
drawers  took  the  place  of  cupboards,  and 
tables  and  chairs  were  lighter  in  build. 
Early  in  Queen  Anne's  reign,  the  straight 
cornice  gave  way  to  the  swan-neck  or 
broken  arch,  and  cherry  and  mahogany, 
delicately  carved,  were  for  the  first  time 
used.  Then  came  the  master  furniture 
artist,  Chippendale,  who  wrested  the  honor 
'34 


<J(L* 


Wedding  Bells  in  Salem  Town 

of  the  names  of  styles  from  monarchs  and 
placed  it  where  it  belonged,  upon  the 
craftsmen.  After  his  time,  styles  were 
named  after  the  men  who  designed  them, 
and  not  after  the  king  who  patronized  the 
designers. 

Henceforth,  furniture  would  not  be 
classed  as  "Stuart,"  or  "Elizabethan," 
but  as  "Chippendale,"  "Hepplewhite,"  or 
"Sheraton."  What,  then,  are  the  myste 
rious  differences  between  the  styles  of 
these  greatest  of  craftsmen  ?  I  had 
searched  through  many  books  to  learn, 
no  one  writer  had  told  me  succinctly  and 
definitely.  And  of  my  own  experience  I 
had  arranged  their  characteristics  thus  in 
my  mind. 

135 


.. - 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


i 


The  earlier  Italian,  Dutch,  and  English 
furniture  was,  for  the  most  part,  massive 
and  heavily  carved,  this  style  culminating 
in  the  "golden  age"  of  furniture  in  Eng 
land  in  the  seventeenth  century.  With  the 
opening  of  the  eighteenth,  this  fashion 
began  to  decline  and  the  more  graceful, 
delicate,  cabriole  or  bandy-leg  furniture 
began  to  be  developed.  Chests  of 
drawers  took  the  place  of  cupboards,  and 
tables  and  chairs  were  lighter  in  build. 
Early  in  Queen  Anne's  reign,  the  straight 
cornice  gave  way  to  the  swan-neck  or 
broken  arch,  and  cherry  and  mahogany, 
delicately  carved,  were  for  the  first  time 
used.  Then  came  the  master  furniture 
artist,  Chippendale,  who  wrested  the  honor 
134 


Wedding  Bells  in  Salem  Town 

of  the  names  of  styles  from  monarchs  and 
placed  it  where  it  belonged,  upon  the 
craftsmen.  After  his  time,  styles  were 
named  after  the  men  who  designed  them, 
and  not  after  the  king  who  patronized  the 
designers. 

Henceforth,  furniture  would  not  be 
classed  as  "Stuart,"  or  "Elizabethan," 
but  as  "Chippendale,"  "Hepplewhite,"  or 
"Sheraton."  What,  then,  are  the  myste 
rious  differences  between  the  styles  of 
these  greatest  of  craftsmen  ?  I  had 
searched  through  many  books  to  learn, 
no  one  writer  had  told  me  succinctly  and 
definitely.  And  of  my  own  experience  I 
had  arranged  their  characteristics  thus  in 
my  mind. 

135 


1 

I 
i 

1 


«-w 

A 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

Chippendale  was,  preeminently,  a  chair- 
maker,  and  the  ribbon-back  chair  was  his 
specialty,  beautiful  in  line  and  carving. 
Chairs  with  carved  legs  and  open-work 
backs,  henceforth  to  be  made,  showed  his 
influence.  As  Chippendale  held  sway  dur 
ing  the  reign  of  George  III,  Hepplewhite, 
the  second  great  master,  influenced  Eng 
land  about  1780.  His  styles  were  more 
graceful  and  delicate  than  Chippendale's, 
but  his  construction  was  often  faulty.  He 
was  a  better  artist  than  a  mechanic.  His 
chairs  always  had  oval,  shield,  or  heart- 
shaped  backs,  and  the  swell  or  serpentine 
front  bureaus  and  sideboards  were  his, 
most  delicate  of  line  and  inlay. 

Sheraton,  the  last  of  the  famous  furni- 
136 


Wedding  Bells  in  Salem  Town 


ture-makers,  flourished  in  the  last  decade' 
of  the  eighteenth  century.     He  eschewed 

i 

the   cabriole   or   curved   leg   entirely   and 
used    straight,    tapering   lines,    similar   to* 
those  of  Hepplewhite.     He  did  little  carv 
ing,   relying  for  the  most  part  on   inlay, 
painting,    and    brass    trimmings,    and    he^ 
certainly    achieved    brilliant    effects.     His 
sideboards     closely     resembled     Hepple-" 
,    white's,     surpassing    them    mechanically.. 

The  slender,  fluted   leg,  set  in   a   rosette, 
* 

was  his. 

The  chief  French  styles  were  the  three 
,    Louis'  and  the  Empire.     Louis  XIV  means 
formal  rococo  work,  boldness,  lavishness, 
and  exquisite  execution.     The  best  "Qua- 
torze"    pieces    were    dignified    and    well 
137 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

Goddess  of  Good  Taste  came  to  the  rescue 
of  our  homes,  and  we  moderns  are  only  just 
now  learning  to  repudiate  the  meretricious 
stuff  of  our  fathers  and  to  go  back,  with  a 
new  appreciation  of  their  beauties,  to  the 
simpler  and  more  classic  styles  of  earlier 
years. 

Here,  then,  was  the  history  of  the  more 
modern  furniture-making  in  a  nutshell. 
Having  thus  constructed  the  royal  short-  , 
cut  to  knowledge  on  the  subject,  a  veritable 
Duffer's  Guide,  —  I  pursued  my  royal  road 
'  toward  the  goal  of  my  heart  and,  after  a 
successful  run,  my  trusty  motor  car  whirled 
me  out  of  Connecticut  into  Massachusetts, 
through  Boston  and  into  Salem  town. 

O 

I  reached  there  a  day  or  two  before  my 
140 


Wedding  Bells  in  Salem  Town 


wedding-day,  because  I  had  one  or  two 
novel  preparations  to  make,  and  became 
the  guest  of  Cynthia's  married  brother, 
who  lived  in  one  of  the  newer  residence 
streets.  She  herself  lived  in  the  family 
home,  a  substantial  square  brick  mansion 
on  historic  Chestnut  Street.  Partly  by 
good  luck  and  partly  by  the  aid  of  Cyn- 
£  thia's  brother,  I  had  found  that  one  of 
the  famous  old  clipper  ships,  one  of  the 
smallest  of  them  all,  was  still  in  commis 
sion,  plying  from  Boston  to  neighboring 
ports.  It  was  clean  and  delightfully  pic 
turesque  and  I  had  chartered  it  and  its 
small  crew  for  a  fortnight's  cruise  to  Nova 
Scotia,  so  that  I  might  imagine  myself  for 
the  time  being  a  Salem  merchant-captain, 
141 


<*t*V 

I 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


taking  my  bride  in  my  own  craft  out  into 
the  high  seas.  On  our  return  to  Salem 
we  were  to  continue  to  my  home  in  my 
motor-car. 

It  was  a  novel  event  in  Salem,  —  the 
entrance  of  this  ancient  craft  into  the 
harbor  it  had  once  known  so  well,  and  all 
Salem  seemed  to  gather  at  the  silent  and 
deserted  harbor  as  her  creamy  sails  hove 
into  sight  from  out  the  blue  sea  the 
day  before  the  wedding  and  dropped 
anchor  near  the  shore.  Cynthia  and  I, 
with  a  group  of  her  friends,  watched  it 
with  some  little  emotion,  but  what  we  two 
said  was  not  overheard. 

Then  the  giant  elms  of  Chestnut  Street 
took  on  a  new  grace,  the  birds  in  Salem's 
142 


The  wedding  bells  rang  joyously  in  Salem  town 
(Page  14.3) 


Wedding  Bells  in  Salem  Town 

old-fashioned  gardens  sang  a  more  joyous 
music,  the  salt-touched  New  England  air 
seemed  to  grow  aromatic  with  the  spices 
of  the  East  Indies,  and  the  wedding  bells 
rang  joyously  in  Salem  town. 

Cynthia's  home  was  in  a  gala  dress  of 
flowers  and  she  herself  carried  a  nosegay 
from  my  own  garden  in  New  Jersey,  and 
among  the  tokens  of  affection  from  Cyn- 
J|y  thia's  home  friends  were  some   pieces  of 
A    old   furniture  that  shamed  the  best  ones 

K    I  had  at  home.     But  we  thought  little  of 
ill 
^'  furniture,   old   or  new,   that  day,   and   in 

jyl,  the  early  afternoon  we  stood  together  on 
the  after-deck  of  our  little  clipper  ship  and 

watched     the    rowboat    loads    of    people 
*v» 

gliding  back  to  the  shore.     The  clank  of 

JiL 

H3 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

the  capstan,  as  the  anchor  came  up  drip 
ping  from  the  water,  the  creaking  of  the  1)1 
pulleys  as  the  sheets  grew  taut,  and  the   ^ 
whistle  of  the  boatswain,  were  music  tojjv, 
our  ears  as  the  sails  swelled   gently  and   A 
the  shores  of  Salem  harbor  grew  indistinct   £ 
behind  us. 


XIII 


IN  WHICH  CYNTHIA  AND  I  ACHIEVE  OUR 
HEARTS'  DESIRE 

ON  the  last  days  of  our  wedding  tour 
we  passed  through  Mendham,  hav 
ing  left  the  clipper  in  Salem  harbor,  and 
^continued,  by  the  motor-car,  on  the  road 
H  home.     The      June      sunshine      sparkled 
%  against  the  windows  of  the  pretty  homes 
and  glowed  warm  and  bright  on  the  well- 
|  kept    lawns   and    bright    flower   gardens. 
fa  Cynthia's  hand  crept  gently  to  my  knee 
A  and  rested  there  flutteringly  as  we  passed 


Greystone." 


Weeds    were 
H5 


growing    in 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


the  brick  path  leading  up  from  the  gate 
and  the  house  looked  dark  and  bare. 
I   put  on  speed  and  swept  out  of  the 

*  village. 

"Home!"   I  cried,  and   Cynthia  smiled 
again. 

,  Down  Morristown's  superb  Madison 
Avenue  we  sped,  past  its  great  pillared 
mansions  with  their  marble  terraces,  for- 

,  mal  gardens,  great  stables,  and  noble 
lawns,  past  bits  of  woods  and  smiling 

r  fields,  over  the  crest  of  the  Orange  moun 
tains  and  down  to  the  nest  I  had  been  for 
so  long  unconsciously  feathering  for  this 
fair  new  occupant.  Cynthia  gave  a  little 
cry  of  wonder  and  pleasure  as  we  turned 

f 

into   the   gravel   driveway   and    halted    at 
146 


Heart's  Desire 

the  foot  of  the  rose  garden.     Together  we 
alighted  and  walked  up  the  narrow  walk 
with  rose  trees  on  each  side.     She  paused 
a    moment    at   the    sun-dial  and  read  the  J$y 
inscription  carved  on  the  side. 

"  Sunshine  and  shadow,  —  so  too  our  lives  are  made,    -A 
But  ah!  how  great  the  sun,  how  small  the  shade!  " 

Oto,  my  Japanese  boy,  met  us,  beaming, 
at  the  door,  but  retired  shortly  as  I  wished  ^5' 

i\ 

-  to  be  alone  with  my  sweet  little  wife  as  Jyl, 
she  saw  her  new  home  for  the  first  time. 
With  constantly  varying  tokens  of  delight 

""*  she  explored  the  oak  wainscoted  hall  with  ~~ 

HH 
,-.  its    carved    Jacobean    chairs,    the   library,  Jjl, 

e 

where  she  greeted,  like  an  old  friend,  the 

Scrutoir,   in    the    purchase  of  which   my    n 
* 
aunt  had  outwitted  me  and  then  presented     A 

H7 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


to  me, —  an  incident  I  had  related  to  Cynthia 
more  than  once,  —  and  on  the  landing  on 

A  the  stairway,  the  tall  clock  which  was  my 
first  old-furniture  purchase  and  which  led 
H   to  such  far-reaching  results. 

Her  trunks  had  arrived  shortly  after  the 
wedding  and  my  aunt  had  added  a  few 
feminine  touches  to  Cynthia's  dainty  bed 
room,  where  some  of  the  furniture  she  had 
,  used  at  Mendham  and  which  I  had  ruth 
lessly  carried  off,  now  newly  done  over, 
was  waiting  to  greet  her.     The  walls  were 
•-  papered  one  third  of  the  way  down  with 
a  French  wall-paper  of  pale  pink  flowers 
on  a  white  ground.     Below  the  white  pic 
ture  molding  was  a  pink  and  white  stripe 
\  paper.     The  woodwork  was  white  enamel. 
148 


*^ 


Heart's  Desire 

By  the  white-draperied  casement  window, 
looking  out  over  the  rose  garden,  was  a 
great,  square  wing-chair  with  carved  legs, 
upholstered  in  linen  taffeta,  figured  with 
green  leaves  and  red  roses  on  a  cream 
background.  Near  it  stood  a  small  ma 
hogany  sewing-table  with  four  square 
drawers,  with  glass  handles  supported  by 
a  polished  column.  The  four-post  bed 
was  very  lightly  curtained  and  the  highboy 
in  the  corner  was  the  one  I  had  borne 
away  on  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit  to 
Mendham.  The  dressing-table,  too,  was 
once  used  there  by  Cynthia. 

A  little  later  we  dined,  vis-a-vis,  in  the 
colonial     dining-room,     its    walls    wains 
coted  in    cherry,  stained    mahogany,  and 
149 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


with  a  dark  tapestry  above.  The  polished 
mahogany  table  with  its  heavy  columned 
base  was  partly  concealed  beneath  the 
damask  and  the  flowers,  the  Sheffield 
plate,  and  the  old  cut-glass.  We  talked, 
however,  not  of  the  old,  but  of  the  new. 
Cynthia  presided  with  charming  grace  as 
hostess  at  her  own  table  for  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  and  my  cup  of  happiness  was 
full.  Early  in  the  evening  the  car  was 
brought  around  and  we  drove  down  to 
my  aunt's,  where  she  had  been  an  occa 
sional  visitor. 

"And  now,"  said  my  aunt,  after  we  had 
described  our  trip  and  the  home-coming, 
"  upon  this  historic  occasion  let  us  explore 
the  secret  compartment  in  the  clock." 


: 


Heart's  Desire 


Cynthia  glanced  at  it  observingly  for  the 
first  time  and  uttered  a  slight  ejaculation. 

To  say  was  to  do.  I  took  off  my  coat 
and  removed  the  glass-faced  top,  lifted  out 
the  long  pendulum,  took  the  weights  from 
the  chains,  lifted  out  the  works,  and  with 
great  care  put  the  long  empty  case  over 
on  the  floor.  The  ladies  bent  eagerly  over 
me  as  I  unscrewed  the  false  bottom,  and 
gasped  aloud  as  I  drew  forth  a  packet  of 
papers  and  a  small  parcel  wrapped  in 
cotton  cloth.  In  an  instant  I  had  a  dear 
little  miniature  of  Cynthia,  as  a  child,  and 
a  long,  sealed  envelope  in  my  hands,  and 
in  the  latter  was  the  missing  will  of  my 
wife's  aunt! 

When  I  announced  this  portentous  news 


- 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 


.•. 


I 
i 
1 


the   two   ladies   dropped,   speechless,   into 
convenient  chairs  and   I  revealed  its  im 
port.     In  it  the  old  lady  had  bequeathed 
what  little  fortune  she  had  to  her  errant 
brother,  —  the    sisterly    heart    remaining 
true  to  him  after  all,  —  except  the  Mend- 
ham  home,  "and  all  that  should  be  con 
tained  therein  at  the  time  of  her  death," 
to  her  beloved  niece  Cynthia,  who  had  '  t" 
shown  a  true  affection  for  it  and  who  had 
brightened  its  rooms  so  often  by  her  visits.     * 
Cynthia,  a  trifle  dewy  as  to  her  blue  T 
eyes,  exclaimed,  "Mine!  ours!  the  dear  old  • 
Mendham  house!     We  will  make  it  our 
country   home   and    spend    part   of  each 
summer  there  and  run  up  once  in  awhile 
in  winter,  and  give  jolly  little  house  par- 
'52 


Heart's  Desire 

ties!  We  can  put  back  the  wood  paneling 
in  the  dining-room  which  Aunt  Cynthia 
tore  out  and  stored  away  down  cellar,  and 
restore  the  dear  old-fashioned  garden  to 
its  glory!" 

"Does  this  mean,"  I  asked  solemnly, 
"that  I  must  take  back  all  the  furniture 
I  have  been  so  industriously  collecting 
from  it  all  these  months  ? " 

"No,  indeed,"  she  replied,  "I  love  them 
better  than  ever  where  they  are." 

"  But  —  but  -  "  interrupted  my  aunt, 
still  bewildered,  "how  did  the  will  come 
in  that  clock  ?" 

Cynthia  turned  to  her  explanatorily. 

"She  sold  the  clock,"  she  said,  "to  Old 
Pierre  some  time  ago.  It  was  the  first 
153 


The  Face  in  the  Girandole 

piece  of  her  old  furniture  she  disposed  of. 
She  was  very  absent-minded  at  times  and 
evidently  had  entirely  forgotten  about  the 
will  and  the  secret  drawer,  and  Old  Pierre 
never  discovered  it." 

"And  it  was  Old  Pierre  who  let  slip 
that  the  highboy  was  for  sale  there!  That 
is  how  I  came  to  discover  the  house." 

"And  how  I  came  to  discover  you,"  I 
added,  sitting  down  beside  Cynthia. 

"Well,  you've  got  me  to  thank  for  it  all," 
said  my  aunt,  triumphantly.  "Aren't  you 
glad  I  got  interested  in  old  furniture?" 

Cynthia  and  I  ran  over  to  her  and 
kissed  her. 


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